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CARICATURE 

(FOURTEENTH  EDITION)  ■ 

WIT  AND  HUMOR  OF  A NATION 
IN  PICTURE,  SONG  AND  STORY 


Illustrated  by 


Grant  E.  Hamilton 
<“  Zim” 

|E.  Flohri 
Art  Young 
A.  S.  Daggy 
• J.  M.  Flagg 
T.  S.  Sullivant 

R.  F.  Outcault 
Penrhyn  Stanlaws 
F.  Nankivel 

S.  Werner 

i “Gus”  Dirks 
F.  L.  Fithian 
“BB”  Baker 
J.  H.  Smith 
Sydney  Adamson 
Peter  Newell 
H.  C.  Greening 
C.  T.  Anderson 


Frank  Snapp 
Arthur  Lewis 


Geo.  Herriman 
Geo.  R.  Brill 


J.  Conacher 
W.  M.  Goodes 
H.  M.  Wilder 
Jno.  Cassell 
Hy  Mayer 
C.  J.  Taylor 
T.  S.  Allen 
Bob  Addams 
Albert  Levering 
Malcolm  Strauss 
F.  H.  Ladendor 
Charles  Sarka 
R.  S.  B redin 
Albert  Bloch 
Bert  Levy 
V.  A.  Soboda 
Fred  Lewis 
Gordon  Grant 
C.  Knowlton 


Burges  Johnson 
W.  J.  Lampton 
R.  K.  Munkittrick 


Poems  and 

Tom  Masson 
W.  D.  Nesbit 
Frank  H.  Brooks 


Stories  by 

Edwin  L.  Sabin 
Edward  W.  Barnard 
Eugene  Geary 


Carolyn  Wells 
Henry  Tyrrell 
and  others 


LESLIE. JUDGE  COMPANY,  225  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 

1912 


Copyright,  1908.  by  Judge  Company,  221  Filth  Avenue,  New  York 


ANOTHER  ON  THE  WIRE.  , 

“ Kitty,  I love  you.  Is  there  any  chance  for  me  ?” 
“ I’m  sorry,  Jack  ; but  the  line 's  busy.” 


Mr.  Hicket  Retires 


By  William  John  Barr  Moses 


MR.  HICKET  didn’t  look  it.  He  was  a rather 
stout,  flabby,  middle-aged  man,  with  a low 
forehead,  oily  black  hair,  small,  blue,  blood- 
shot eyes,  an  angular  nose,  puffy  lips,  big 
ears,  a complexion  bluish  white,  mottled  red  and  purple, 
and  a mouthful  of  irregular,  tobacco-stained  teeth.  He 
wore  a pair  of  skeleton  nose-glasses  tied  to  a black  cord, 
and  his  clothes,  which  had  been  flashy  and  loud  in  their 
time,  were  now  wrinkled,  misshapen  and  decorated  with 
grease  and  dandruff.  Mr.  Hicket  didn’t  look  it,  but  he 
was  a literary  bureau,  a financial  bureau,  a correspond- 
ence university,  an  astrologer,  a matrimonial  exchange, 
a handwriting  expert,  and  a few  other  things  of  the  same 
general  character. 

Mr.  Hicket  began  his  day’s  work  by  looking  over  the 
mail.  Among  the  letters  this  morning  there  was  one 
from  a young  lady  in  Arkansas,  complaining  that,  al- 
though she  had  taken  Mr.  Hicket’s  ten-dollar  course  in 
journalism,  and  his  twenty-five-dollar  course  in  short- 
story  writing,  and  his  fifteen-dollar  post-graduate  course 
besides,  her  manuscripts  came  back  from  the  magazines 
with  the  same  promptness  as  of  yore,  and  accompanied 
by  the  very  same  polite  little  slips,  while  the  news- 
papers, as  a rule,  neither  returned  her  manuscripts,  nor 
the  stamps  that  accompanied 
them,  nor  sent  her  checks  in 
their  stead.  Mr.  Hicket  an- 
swered this  letter  with  a 
printed  slip,  which  an- 
nounced that  the  Universal 
School  of  Journalism  and 
Short  Story  Writing  was  in 
the  hands  of  a receiver,  and 
that  the  whereabouts  of  the 
former  proprietors  was  un- 
known. 

The  next  letter  contained 
a check  for  ten  dollars  from 
a simple-minded  clergyman 
in  Nebraska,  the  same  being 
a payment  in  advance  for  the 
degree  of  doctor  of  philoso- 
phy, which  the  clergyman 
had  earned  by  completing,  in 
nine  months,  the  three  years’ 
course  of  reading  outlined 
by  the  professors  of  the 
Hicket  Correspondence  Uni- 
versity. Mr.  Hicket  drew 
from  a drawer  of  his  desk 
an  elaborate  blank,  orna- 
mented with  gold  and  red, 
and  bearing  several  imita- 
tion seals,  filled  it  up  in  due 


A WOMAN'S  CHOICE. 

“ Would  you  like  a pretzel,  lady  }' 

“ Yes.  I ll  take  that  one  on  the  bottom  of  the  stick. 


form,  placed  it  in  a pasteboard  mailing  tube  and  ad- 
dressed it  to  the  clergyman. 

Other  letters  contained  fees  of  various  sizes  from 
young  men  and  young  women  who  wished  to  be  taught 
journalism,  or  short-story  writing,  or  the  art  of  adver- 
tising, or  acting,  or  oratory,  or  magnetic  healing,  or 
astrology,  or  some  other  art  or  science  of  making  money 
quickly  without  work ; from  older  men  and  women,  as 
.well  as  younger  ones,  who  sent  specimens  of  their  hand- 
writing, or  the  date  of  their  birth,  and  wished  to  know 
what  fortune  awaited  them,  or  wished  advice  in  the  mat- 
ter of  purchasing  stocks  or  making  investments,  or  who 
wished  to  correspond  with  ladies  or  gentlemen  matri- 
monially inclined,  or  who  trusted  to  Mr.  Hicket’s  great 
abilities  for  something  else.  The  letters  came  from  all 
over  the  United  States,  save  for  a five-hundred-mile 
safety  zone  around  the  city.  Mr.  Hicket  didn’t  adver- 
tise in  that  five-hunflred-mile  zone.  His  was  a strictly 
correspondence  business,  and  he  did  not  care  to  have  per- 
sonal interviews  with  his  clients  and  pupils.  Most  of 
them  were  poor,  and  five  hundred  miles  of  railway  journey 
was  sufficient  to  keep  them  at  bay. 

Mr.  Hicket  was  a lazy  man  who  had  made  the  great 
discovery  that  labor  can  be  minimized  by  method  and 

regularity.  He  had  in  his 
office  thousands  of  printed 
slips,  and  letters  in  imitation 
typewriting,  fit  to  answer 
almost  any  possible  commu- 
nication which  his  numerous 
advertisements  might  bring 
to  him,  and  he  kept  careful 
lists  of  all  of  his  patrons. 
It  usually  took  him  about 
two  hours  to  get  through  and 
answer  a day’s  mail,  and  the 
two  hours  chosen  for  this 
labor  were  from  seven  until 
nine  in  the  morning.  The 
rest  of  the  day  and  night  Mr. 
Hicket  devoted  to  cashing 
the  checks  received  and 
spending  the  money.  The 
large  gilt  letters  on  his  door 
said  nothing  of  the  nature  of 
his  business,  and  merely  an- 
nounced that  his  office  hours 
were  from  ten  to  twelve  and 
from  one  to  three.  This  was 
another  precaution  against 
undesirable  callers. 

On  this  particular  morn- 
ing Mr.  Hicket  was  well 
jU^-vsed  with  the  character 


HOPE  DEFERRED. 

‘ Am  I going  to  marry  my  affinity,  madam 

‘ Maybe  you  are,  miss ; but  your  first  marriage  will  be  to  a husband. 


of  his  mail.  He  whistled  softly  as  he  opened  the  last 
of  the  letters.  He  felt  at  peace  with  himself  and  the 
world,  and  safe  from  fraud  orders  and  skeptical  in- 
truders. 

He  was  startled  from  his  equanimity  by  the  opening 
of  the  door  behind  him,  and  by  a raucous,  female  voice, 
which  inquired, 

“ Is  this  the  Universal  School  of  Journalism  and 
Short  Story  Writing?” 

Mr.  Hicket  swung  slowly  round  in  his  chair  and  con- 
fronted the  visitor.  She  was  a strapping  Amazon  of  a 
woman,  with  pale,  reddish  hair,  a thin,  hooked  nose,  thin 
lips  and  freckles. 

“This  is  merely  the  correspondence  office,”  he  said 
cautiously.  “ I am  merely  the  corresponding  secretary.  ” 

“Well,”  said  the  Amazon,  striding  nearer,  “I’m 
from  Montana,  and  I want  my  money  back.” 

“ If  you  have  any  complaints  ” began  Mr.  Hicket 

suavely,  but  stopped  abruptly,  with  his  mouth  open,  his 


eyes  bulging  out  of  his  head,  gazing  fix- 
edly at  the  six-shooter  which  his  caller 
had  suddenly  whisked  into  view. 

“I  want  my  money  back,”  she  re- 
peated. 

“ How — how  much  is  it?”  inquired 
Mr.  Hicket  tremulously. 

“ Ten  dollars  for  the  course  in  jour- 
nalism, twenty-five  dollars  for  the  course 
in  short-story  writing,  fifteen  dollars  for 
the  post-graduate  course,  and  three  hun- 
dred dollars  for  railway  fare  and  expens- 
es— three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  alto- 
gether. ” 

Mr.  Hicket  thought  quickly. 

“ We  make  it  a rule  to  refund  all 
fees  in  case  a patron  is  dissatisfied,”  he 
said  blandly ; “ but — but — is  it  not  a lit- 
tle exorbitant  to  ask  for  your  railway 
fare  in  addition?  Why  did  you  not  write 
if  you  felt  that  you  were  not  receiving 
full  value  for  your  money?” 

“Write!”  exclaimed  the  irate  lady. 
“Write!  I have  written  and  written, 
and  I’ve  received  enough  printed  answers 
to  my  letters  to  paper  a room  with,  but 
no  money.  I want  my  money  back,  and 
I want  my  expenses  paid,  too!  You 
hear  me?” 

“ My  dear  madam,”  said  Mr.  Hicket 
soothingly,  “ we  shall  do  whatever  you 
think  is  right.  Pardon  me  one  moment. 
I’ll  just  step  into  the  treasurer’s  office 
and  get  the  money.” 

lie  rose  as  he  spoke  and  stepped  to 
the  door.  His  hat  and  coat  hung  beside 
it;  he  reached  for  them  with  one  hand 
and  for  the  door  knob  with  the  other. 

“Hold  up!”  cried  the  lady  suspi- 
ciously. ‘ ‘ What  are  you  taking  your  hat 
for?  Where  is  the  treasurer’s  office?” 
“It’s  in  the  building  across  the 
street,”  explained  Mr.  Hicket.  “ You  see,  in  a big  city 
like  this,  we  find  it  much  cheaper  to  rent  different 
offices  where  we  can  get  them,  instead  of  one  whole 
building.” 

“Oh,  indeed,”  she  sniffed;  then  glanced  about  her 
and  sat  down  in  Mr.  Hicket’s  chair.  “ Well,  you’d  bet- 
ter hurry,  and  don’t  you  try  any  tricks.  If  you  do  you’ll 
be  sorry.  I want  my  money,  and  I’m  going  to  have  it, 
too.  ’ ’ 

“Certainly,  certainly,”  murmured  Mr.  Hicket,  as  he 
fled  for  the  stairway,  too  anxious  to  wait  for  the  ele- 
vator. 

“Well,”  he  sighed,  much  relieved,  when  he  reached 
the  street,  “ that  girl’s  a Jim  Dandy,  hey?  She  wants 
her  money,  does  she?  Well,  she’ll  want  it  a lot  worse 
before  she  sees  me  again.-  She  can  wait  there  until  she 
gets  tired  and  hungry  enough  to  quit.  When  she  goes 
for  a lunch  she’ll  find  herself  locked  out.  I slipped  the 
catch  as  I came  through.  I won’t  go  back  there  until 


day  after  to-morrow,  and  then  I’ll  go  at  six  o’clock,  and 
before  eight  I’ll  be  moved  out  and  into  another  office. 
Judas  Priest!  if  I have  many  more  such  pupils  as  that 
I’ll  retire.” 

Mr.  Hicket.  had  in  his  pocket,  fortunately,  the  checks 
received  that  morning,  and  he  now  proceeded  to  cash 
them.  The  rest  of  that  day  and  the  whole  of  the  next  he 
spent  in  satisfying  a healthy  thirst  and  in  gambling. 
On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  he  repaired,  somewhat 
later  than  he  had  planned,  to  his  office. 

“ I hope  the  old  girl  didn't  lug  off  my  typewriter  or 
anything,”  he  reflected,  as  he  strode  from  the  elevator 
toward  the  ground-glass  door.  The  door  was  locked,  as 
usual,  and  he  inserted  his  key  and  opened  it,  then  started 
back  in  astonishment.  The  red-headed  woman  was  there. 
Her  back  was  turned  toward  him.  She  was  pinning  a 
paper  on  the  opposite  wall.  But  it  was  not  the  presence 
of  the  woman  which  most  astonished 
him.  The  room  was  bare  and  empty. 

Ilis  typewriter  was  gone.  His  desk 
was  gone.  The  cabinet  in  which  he 
kept  the  printed  slips  and  letters, 
diplomas,  and  the  rest  of  his  stock 
in  trade  was  gone.  Even  the  waste 
basket,  and  the  chair,  and  the  picture 
of  a tiger  which  had  hung  on  the 
wall  were  gone.  He  entered  the  room 
mechanically  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him  from  long  habit. 

The  woman  turned  about,  saw 
who  it  was,  and  smiled. 

‘‘  I’ve  been  looking  after  things 
for  you  while  you’ve  been  away,” 
she  said  sweetly. 

“ Wha — what  have  you  done?” 
stammered  Mr.  Hicket.  “Where 
— where — where’s  my  things?” 

“ The  typewriter  and  the  desk  and 
the  other  furniture  I sold  to  get  my 
money.  Your  printed  letters  and 
slips  and  things  I had  the  janitor 
sell  for  waste  paper.” 

“ Woman,  this  is  robbery — lar- 
ceny-burglary. I shall  give  you 
into  custody  at  once,”  cried  Mr. 

Hicket  furiously. 

‘ ‘ I think  not,  ’’said  the  lady,  eye- 
ing him  coldly.  “ In  order  to  do  that 
you  will  have  to  get  in  touch  with 
the  police.  I have  reason  to  think 
thatyoudonot  care  to  become  known 
to  the  police.  I feel  perfectly  safe.  ’ ’ 

Mr.  Hicket  gasped.  Itwastrue. 

He  dared  not  call  upon  the  law  to 
protect  him.  He  would  have  to  ex- 
plain too  much.  He  leaned  against 
the  wall  and  gasped.  Perspiration 
broke  out  in  drops  on  his  forehead. 

‘ ‘ But  my  business  !”  he  murmur- 
ed. “You  have  ruined  my  business!” 

' “ I wouldn’t  worry  about  that  if  I 

were  you,”  she  replied.  “Iam  a 
stenographer  and  used  to  attending 


to  correspondence.  I opened  your  mail  yesterday  and  sent 
the  money  back,  and  to  those  who  did  not  send  money  I 
sent  a note,  telling  them  that  you  were  a fraud.  I looked 
through  your  books,  too,  and  sent  a little  epistle  to  all  of 
your  customers.  I was  just  pinning  up  a sample  copy 
for  your  benefit  when  you  came  in.  Here  it  is.” 

He  took  the  slip  she  offered  to  him. 

“ Good-bye, ” she  murmured.  “I’ve  got  my  money 
back,”  and  marched  past  him  and  out  of  the  room. 

He  looked  at  the  slip.  It  read  as  follows:  “The 
Universal  School  of  Journalism  and  Short  Story  Writing 
is  a fake.  A fool  and  his  money  are  soon  parted.  Yours 
truly,  Sallie  Smith.” 

He  was  still  leaning  against  the  wall.  He  closed  his 
eyes  to  shut  out  the  nakedness  of  his  familiar  office,  and 
muttered  feebly,  “ She’s  gone — gone  at  last — but  I guess 
I’ll  retire,  anyway.” 


WOMAN’S  CURIOSITY. 

That  Mr.  Huggard  is  a regular  bear.” 
Oh,  dear!  You  must  introduce  me.” 


SOAP-BUBBLES. 

Cynthia  grows  reminiscent  and  reviews  her  proposals  of  the  summer  vacation. 


The  Vacation  Diary  of  a Millionaire 

„ By  W.  J.  Foley 


ULY  1st. — Extremely  hot. 
Nothing  doing  in  high  fi- 
nance. Start  to-day  for 
my  summer  home  in  the 
mountains  to  get  into 
touch  with  nature.  How 
good  it  is  to  be  able  to 
cast  off  the  cares  and  re- 
sponsibilities of  business 
for  a time  and  be  light- 
hearted and  free  as  a boy ! 

July  3d. — Highly  sen- 
sational attack  on  Atlan- 
tic and  Pacific  in  the  news 
to-day.  The  President  has 
directed  the  Attorney- 
General  to  proceed  against 
the  board  of  directors.  I 
wonder  if  I am  in  that  directorate?  Yes;  unfortunately 
I am.  So  glad  I came  to  the  mountains  for  a good 
rest ! 

July  6th. — How  glorious  here  at  my  mountain  retreat, 
secluded  from  affairs  and  safe  from  the  prying  inquiries 
of  reporters ! In  the  fall  I must  get  Atlantic  and  Pacific 
back  to  par.  How  beautiful  the  trees  and  rocks  and 
streams  are!  The  world  is  good  and  pleasant,  truly. 
Just  got  a daily  paper ! How  the  news  follows  us ! I’ll 
look  it  over.  “ Indictments  likely  in  Atlantic  and  Pa- 
cific,” it  says.  D — - — - Atlantic  and  Pacific! 

July  8th. — I am  indicted  ! Just  got  word  over  a pri- 
vate wire.  Me  indicted  as  a director  of  Atlantic  and 
Pacific!  A man  of  unblemished  reputation — a philan- 
thropist sacrificed  to  the  senseless  clamor  of  the  mob ! 
And  wanted  as  a witness  in  Consolidated  Copper!  By 
heaven!  what  has  become  of  our  liberties?  I’ll  obey  no 
subpoena,  rest  assured  of  that.  Ye  gods!  what  penalties 
wealth  pays  to  jealousy! 

July  10th. — Just  heard  by  wireless  that  inquiry  is  on 
into  Consolidated  Traction,  and  Union  Gas  and  Electric 
is  under  the  probe.  Grand  jury  will  take  up  these  mat- 
ters at  once.  Confound  railroads  and  copper  and  trac- 
tion and  gas!  I wish  I was  out  of  the  whole  business. 
This  thing  is  spoiling  my  trout-fishing.  I don’t  have 
any  comfort  at  all.  Sometimes  wish  I was  a farmer. 

July  11th.— Jersey  Elevated  on  the  rack!  If  this  is 
a vacation  I am  having,  I guess  the  trolley’s  twisted. 

July  12th. — Grand  jury  has  adjourned.  Thank  the 
Lord  for  that!  I’m  going  fishing. 

July  13th. — Suspicious-looking  characters  in  the 
woods.  Have  sent  Jones  to  investigate. 

July  14th. — Jones  thinks  they  are  subpoena-servers. 
By  ginger!  I’ll  wing  ’em  if  they  cross  my  path.  Is 
man  to  have  no  peace,  even  during  vacation?  Weather 
a little  chilly,  and  I am  staying  in  the  house. 

July  15th. — Another  stranger.  Jones  is  investigat- 
ing. Jones  says  he  has  a bench-warrant.  Have  in- 
structed Jones  to  admit  no  strangers  to  the  house.  Fish 


biting  well,  but  dare  not  go  out  for  fear  of  those  con- 
founded bailiffs  and  constables. 

July  16th. — Jones  on  guard — officers  lurking  in  the 
woods.  This  place  is  a prison.  Two  reporters  in  the 
woods,  so  Jones  reports,  with  cameras.  This  administra- 
tion is  a farce — a thing  of  shams  and  deceits.  And  they 
call  this  a free  country ! Bah ! 

July  17th. — Sent  Jones  for  a doctor.  I am  so  nerv- 
ous and  irritable  I can’t  eat  or  sleep.  All  doors  securely 
locked  and  bolted.  By  ginger!  suppose  one  o*  those  fel- 
lows should  come  down  the  chimney? 

July  18th. — Quieter,  but  far  from  well. 

July  19th. — Better,  but  no  appetite. 

July  20th.- — Subpoena  and  fee  thrown  trough  the 
window  with  a stone.  Jones  chucked  ’em  into  the  fire. 

July  20th. — Another  subpoena  dropped  down  the  chim- 
ney into  the  fireplace. 

July  22d.— Escaped  from  my  lodge  last  night  in  the 
auto.  Going  deeper  into  the  woods.  My  goodness ! 
what  a summer ! 

July  23d. — Four  constables,  two  subpoena-servers  and 
five  reporters  on  the  trail. 

Julv  24th. — Secluded  in  a little  hamlet  far  up  in  the 
mountains.  Jones  ran  the  auto  along  the  bed  of  the 


COMPROMISED  WITH  HIS  LORDSHIP. 

Rupert — “ Lord  Notasent  asked  me  to  teach  him  how  to  play 
poker.” 

Editha — “ And  you  ?” 

Rupert — “ Compromised  tv  landing  him  a hundred  dollar  s ” 


brook,  to  leave  no  sign.  Am  growing  whiskers,  and, 
thus  disguised,  will  be  able  to  escape  later  to  a seaport. 

July  25th. — Uneventful  week.  No  excitement  but 
watching  my  whiskers  grow.  Came  up  out  of  cyclone 
cellar  to-day  for  ten  minutes. 

August  2d. — Jones  says  new  batch  of  officers  is  lurk- 
ing about  the  place.  Still  in  cyclone  cellar.  Only  have 
five  minutes  out  per  day  now. 

August  3d-15th. — Nothing  doing  but  whiskers  and 
watching  for  strangers.  Jones  says  the  woods  are  filling 
up  with  subpoena-servers. 

August  16th. — Important  message  from  Slick  & 
Squeeze  that  all  indictments  have  been  quashed  for  lack 
of  jurisdiction.  There  is  justice  in  the  land  yet.  I am 
picking  up  rapidly. 

August  20th. — Have  instructed  Jones  to  arrange  for 
trip  back  to  the  city. 

August  25th. — Back  in  town.  Reporters  say  I am 
the  picture  of  health.  Announced  my  gift  of  $50,000  to 
the  High  Art  Institute.  Atlantic  and  Pacific  going  up 
again  slowly.  The  President  gone  hunting — thank 
heaven ! Interview  deploring  senseless  attacks  on  our 
financial  institutions,  and  stating  that  we  stand  like 
adamant  in  our  probity.  And  I never  caught  a fish ! 


Uncompromised. 


ED.  and  Mag.  together  were 

Oft  in  close  communion  seen. 
Ed.  was  but  an  editor. 

Mag.  a weekly  magazine. 


POOR  JACK! 

“ I do  wish  Jack  would  hurry  up  and  propose.’ 
“ But  1 thought  you  didn’t  like  him  ?” 

“ 1 don’t.  1 want  to  get  rid  of  him.” 


IN  CONVENTION  ASSEMBLED. 

_ Professor  Leo — “ Ladies  and  gentlemen,  after  carefully  studying  the  statements  of  both 
parties  to  the  nature-faker  controversy,  I am  convinced  that  it  is  a zoological  impossibility  tor  either 
of  them  to  be  right.” 


Progress  of  Freedom. 

r 7NCLE  EPII  was  standing 
in  the  doorway  of  John- 
son’s Cross  Roads  Emporium, 
at  Red  House,  Ga.,  when  the 
first  touring-car  ever  seen  in 
the  neighborhood  went  puffing 
up  the  road  toward  Squigg’s 
Corners. 

“ Sakes  alibe,  Marse  John- 
sing!”  he  exclaimed  to  the 
merchant  prince,  who  never 
stopped  his  whittling,  “ wot’s 
dat?” 

“ Oh,  jest  one  o’  them  hoss- 
less  kerridges,  ” answered  the 
sage,  who  had  once  visited 
Atlanta. 

“ Well,  who  made  it,  Marse 
Johnsing — de  debbil?” 

“ Wuss  than  that,  Eph — 
them  pesky  Yankees!”  was 
the  reply. 

“ Lawdy,  Lawdy!  Now, 
wa’n’tdat  jes’  like  ’em?  Back 
dere  in  ’sebenty-six  dey  freed 
de  kentry,  an’  den  in  ’sixty- 
t’ree  dey  freed  de  darkies, 
an’  yere  dey  goes  a-freein’  de 
hosses  an’  mules !” 


A C&tskill  Mountain  Scheme 

By  A.  B.  Lewis 


ER  an  hour’s  driving,  the 
wagon  that  had  brought  the 
Jones  family  from  the  lit- 
tle railroad  station  in  the 
Catskills  stopped  at  a 
farm-house  that  appeared 
ready  to  collapse  from  de- 
cay. It  had  not  been  paint- 
ed in  years,  many  of  the 
window  panes  were  broken, 
and  several  holes  could  be 
seen  in  the  battered  shin- 
gle roof.  There  was  no 
grass  and  only  one  or  two 
trees  on  the  grounds  surrounding  the  neglected  building, 
and  the  only  sign  of  life  about  the  place  was  a hungry- 
looking  dog  that  put  up  his  head  and  howled  mournfully 
when  the  vehicle  drove  up.  As  the  driver,  an  old  farm- 
er, got  off  the  wagon  and  appeared  to  be  unhitching  the 
horses,  Jones  was  the  first  to  get  over  his  astonishment, 
and  he  angrily  demanded, 

“ Say,  what  sort  of  a bunco  game  is  this  you’re  try- 
ing to  play  on  us?” 


“ What  d’ye  mean?”  quietly  asked  the  farmer. 

“ What  do  I mean,  sir ! Why,  your  circular  describes 
a place  vastly  different  from  this.  Where  are  the  shaded 

lawns,  the  stately  elms,  the” 

“ John,  ” cut  in  Mrs.  Jones  with  a sob,  “ I — I wouldn’t 
stay  a night  in  that  house  for  a million  dollars ! It — it 
looks  like  it  was  haunted!” 

“ Of  course  we  won’t!”  said  her  husband.  “ You’re 
dealing,  sir,  with  a New  York  business  man,  and  not 
some  hayseed.” 

“ Where’s  the  tennis  court,  pa?”  wailed  young  Jones, 
who  had  brought  several  rackets  with  him. 

“ And  the  croquet  grounds?”  asked  Miss  Jones,  as  she 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 

The  farmer  made  no  reply  for  a time.  He  had  evi- 
dently been  adjusting  the  harness,  for  he  soon  returned 
to  his  seat,  and  as  he  started  the  horses  again,  he  said, 

“ You  city  folks  alius  jump  ter  conclushuns  the  fust 
thing.  Now,  if  ye’ll  give  me  a chance  I’ll  git  ye  to 
Pansy  Farm  House.  It’s  a leetle  further  down  the  road.  ” 
A sigh  of  relief  went  up  from  the  Jones  family  that 
could  have  been  heard  half  a mile  away,  and  when  they 
reached  their  destination,  although  the  place  did  not 


WHERE  THE  COUNTRY  GETS  EVEN  WITH  THE  CITY. 

“ I tell  yeou,  us  farmers  ain’t  so  slow.” 

“ How’s  that.  Si  ?” 

“Well,  them  city  fellers  lure  us  to  town  to  take  their  gold  bricks  an  we  entice  em  out  here  all  summer  to  take 
board  with  us,  an’  1 reckon  we  jest  erbout  break  even  on  the  hull  deal." 


come  up  to  the  description  and  looked  rather  in  need  of 
repairs,  it  struck  them  as  being  superior  to  anything  in 
the  mountains.  Jones  had  almost  forgotten  the  incident, 
but  a day  or  two  later  he  overheard  the  farmer  remark 
to  his  wife, 

“ By  gum,  ma,  but  that  scheme  o’  mine  o’  stoppin’ 
down  by  Perkins’s  old  shanty  and  purtendin’  to  unhitch 
works  like  a charm!  The  city  folks  wuz  alius  kickin’, 
but  they  ’pear  so  glad  to  git  here  now  that  ye  kin  feed 
’em  on  ’taters  and  ’lasses,  and  it’s  all  right.  I orter 
been  in  the  gold-brick  bizness,  ’stead  o'  wastin’  my  time 
up  here. v 

The  Best  He  Could  Do. 

THEY  sat  on  the  beach  in  the  moonlight,  and  held 
hands,  and  watched  the  stars,  and  listened  to  the 
tide  as  it  “ walked  right  in  and  turned  around  and 
walked  right  out  again.”  For  one  week — seven  whole 
blissful  days — they  had  been  engaged,  and  he  had  prom- 
ised her  six  automobiles,  four  steam  yachts,  thirty-eight 
diamond  necklaces,  and  nine  bulldogs.  And  they  were  to 
go  to  Europe  on  their  wedding-tour,  and  live  on  Fifth 
Avenue  when  they  returned,  to  say  nothing  of  a villa  at 
Newport.  As  a clock  in  the  distance  struck  the  hour  of 
ten,  he  heaved  a deep  sigh.  “ Geraldine,  I — I have  a sad, 
sad  duty  to  perform.  To-morrow  I return  to  the  city.” 
“ But — but  you  will  come  back,  Arthur?” 

“ Not  this  year,  Geraldine.  I may  as  well  tell  you 
the  truth.  I work  at  the  ribbon  counter  at  Stacy’s,  and 
my  vacation  ends  to-morrow  morning.  You  see  ” 


THE  CHEAPER  WAY. 

Mrs.  Jones — “ Mrs.  Smith  has  a perfect  dream  of  a hat.” 

Mr.  Jones — “ Great  idea ! Go  take  a nap  and  see  if  you  can’t 


JUST  TEN  MINUTES  WASTED. 

Mother — “ Now,  you  sit  down  in  that  chair  and  be  good  for 
ten  minutes.” 

Son — “ I don’t  want  to.  Pa  ’ll  be  home  in  ten  minutes,  and 
I’ll  have  to  be  good,  anyway.” 

“ But  you  are  the  son  of  a billionaire!”  she  broke  in. 
“ Alas,  no!  My  father  is  assistant  cook  on  a liner,  so 
I am  only  the  son  of  a sea-cook.” 

“ But — but  that  one  continuous  round 
of  gayety  we  were  to  have!”  wailed  the 
girl,  in  tones  that  frightened  the  lob- 
sters on  the  beach  (including  Arthur). 

“ Not  this  summer,  Geraldine.”' 
‘‘And  the  autos  and  diamonds  and 
dear  Newport?” 

“ Pipe-dreams,  my  dear.” 

“ Oh !”  she  moaned,  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands,  “ how  I have  banked  on 
that  continuous  round  of  gayety ! And 
now  you  tell  me  it  was  all  a pipe.” 

“ Say,  Geraldine,”  said  Arthur,  as  he 
patted  her  on  the  back  and  tried  to  soothe 
her,  “ I’ll  tell  you  what  I will  do  about 
that  round  of  gayety  that  sticks  so  in 
your  crop.  You  meet  me  next  Saturday 
afternoon,  after  I’ve  drawn  my  seven - 
fifty  per,  and  we’ll  go  to  Coney  Island 
and  get  on  a carousel  and  stay  there 
until  midnight.  How’ll  that  do  for  a 
continuous  round  of  gayety?” 

‘‘Wretch!  Fraud!  Deceiver!”  she 
exclaimed,  as  she  waved  him  back  and 
arose  to  her  feet.  “ I work  at  the  hat- 
pin counter  at  Blank’s,  only  three  blocks 
from  Stacy’s,  and  if  I ever  see  you  pass 
the  store  I’ll  run  out  and  jab  eight  hat- 
pins into  your  miserable  carcass!  Go 
hence !” 

dream  one.”  And  thus  they  parted. 


A.  B.  LEWIS. 


Judge’s  Handy  Hints 

to  Household  Heads. 

^AfHEN  enjoying  a jumping  toothache  the 

” pain  can  be  alleviated  in  the  following 
easy  manner : 

Cut  from  an  expensive  comforter  a piece  about 
the  size  of  your  wife’s  first  biscuit,  but  about  a 
million  times  softer.  Of  course  this  will  destroy 
the  comforter,  but  it  will  also  destroy  the  ache. 

Dip  this  piece  of  comforter  into  some  kerosene 
until  entirely  saturated.  Then  push  into  cavity 
of  the  tooth  and  hammer  it  in  firmly  with  a 
croquet  mallet.  This  will  immediately  relieve 
the  pain;  whereas  if  you  went  to  a dentist,  be- 
sides relieving  you  of  the  pain  he  would  relieve 
you  of  perhaps  two  dollars.  If  the  kerosene 
leaves  a bad  taste  in  your  mouth,  it  can  be  rem- 
edied by  eating  a small  cube  of  limburger  cheese 
or  gargling  with  roof  paint. 

The  above  remedy  is  infallible.  One  treatment  is 
e nough.  Try  it  once  and  you  will  never  try  it  again. 

The  average  chauffeur  certainly  takes  life  easily. 


HOW  TO  READ  CHARACTER  BY  THE  WAIST-LINE. 

We  have  palm-reading,  face-reading,  bump-reading,  handwriting  experts, 
etc.,  but  no  method  that  gives  a satisfactory  index  to  character — especially  wo- 
man s character.  Waist-line  reading  has  not  been  advocated  as  yet,  so  we  sug- 
gest to  the  woozy  prognosticators  and  dippy  scientists  the  following : A high 

waist-line  denotes  emotional  nature,  high-strung,  skittish,  and  fond  of  outdoor 
sports.  A low  waist-line  indicates  a quiet  nature,  fond  of  children,  the  theatre, 
candy,  etc. 

Explained. 

Y husband  went  to  church  this  morning.” 

“ Our  Sunday  paper  didn’t  come,  either.” 


the  Regular  Thing. 

AND  now  the  summer  boarders  come, 
Tin-lunged  and  rubber-jawed, 

To  talk  us  all  both  deaf  and  dumb 
Of  what  they  saw  “ abroad.” 

And  she  who  claims  that  she  has  see 
“ Paree  ” by  night  and  day, 

Quite  possibly  has  never  been 

To  Hoboken,  N.  J.  LURANA W.  SHELDON. 


BEHIND  THE  SCENES. 

The  tragedian — “ I'm  going  out  in  a new  play  this  season,  and  I want  my  press  agent  to  get  up  some  new  story  about  me  that  will 
attract  great  attention.” 

The  leading  lady — “ Why  don't  you  have  him  say  you’re  going  to  act  ?” 


A Real-estate  Enthusiast. 


44  /XNCE  in  my  early  career,”  said  a well-known  New 
York  magazine  editor,  “ I owned  and  edited  a 
more  or  less  thrifty  weekly  newspaper.  One  of  my 
features  was  country  correspondence,  and  I prided  my- 
self on  the  accuracy  of  my  rural  aids.  In  one  issue, 
from  the  best  point  on  my  list,  I received  a notice  read- 
ing as  follows:  ‘Mr.  John  Grady,  having  purchased  a 
plot  of  ground  in  Machpelah  some  months  ago,  has  now 
gone  into  real  estate  body  and  soul.  John  was  always 
an  enthusiast.’ 

“ The  item  looked  all  right  to  me,  and  sounded  quite 
enterprising,  I thought ; but  a day  or  two  after  the  paper 
had  got  round  among  the  subscribers  I received  a letter 
of  ‘ indignity,’  which  almost  took  my  breath  away.  In 
it  I was  duly  informed  that  Mr.  Grady  was  dead  and 
buried  in  the  Machpelah  cemetery,  where  he  had  pur- 
chased a plot  some  three  months  previously.  In  conclu- 
sion, I may  say  that  my  correspondent  at  that  point  has 
since  risen  to  prominence  as  a humorist,  and  I suppose 
most  of  you  have  read  his  stuff  in  various  publications. 
But  that  item  was  not  very  funny  for  him  or  for  me,  be- 
cause he  had  to  get  another  job  far  away,  and  I lost  a 
dozen  good  subscribers.” 

Turn  About. 

THE  summertime  will  soon  be  gone — 

Nature  grieves. 

And  just  as  soon  as  autumn  comes 
Autumn  leaves. 


IN  SOCIETY. 


“ Papa,  I wish  you’d  get  arrested  for  speeding.  Willie  Smith’s 
father  has  been  arrested  three  times,  an’  I just  hate  to  have  those 
Smiths  get  ahead  of  us.” 


n BARGAINS 

BATHINfi  SUITS 


WOULDN’T  STAND  ANOTHER  CUT. 


“ This  suit  is  fifteen  dollars.  ’ 

“ H'm  ? Could  you  take  something  off  that  3’’ 

“ If  you  wish  it,  miss ; but  I think  you’ll  find  it  comes  above  the  fine?  nouj." 


Rare  Indeed. 
3JT0W  rarely  do  these 
**  three  things  meef^— a 
man  who  wants  something, 
is  fitted  for  it,  and  any 
great  number  of  persons 
who  think  he  ought  to 
have  it. 

Lending  Interest  to 
the  Show. 

4 4 ^AY,”  said  Tommy, 
the  chief  manager 
of  the  fifteen -pin  show, 
“ I’m  goin’  ter  raise  de  ad- 
mittance ter  thirty  pins 
fer  dis  evenin’s  perform- 
ance.” 

“ Wot  fer?”  asked  his 
assistant. 

“ ’Cause  my  sister  wot 
eloped  wid  de  hackman  an’ 
had  her  name  in  all  de  pa- 
pers ’s  consented  ter  be 
present.” 

^AJTE  will  never  have  uni- 
^ * versal  peace  until 
each  nation  is  satisfied  with 
foe  niece  it  has. 


“ Whah  yo’  gwine  wid  de  telescope  ?” 

“ Gwine  ter  play  a game  ob  checkers  wid  Peg  Leg.  Dey  say  he 
kin  see  way  erhead  in  de  game,  an’  Ah’m  gwine  ter  play  wid  dis  inst’u- 
ment  to  mah  eye,  an’  Ah’ll  bet  Ah  kin  see  bout  ten  times  furder  dan 
hirj.  ’ 

LIMIT  OF  LAZINESS. 

'W'WO  DARKIES  lay  sprawled  on  the  levee  on  a hot 
* day.  George  Washington  drew  a long  sigh  and 
said,  “ Ah  wish  Ah  had  a hundred  watermillions.  ” 

Dixie’s  eye  lighted.  “Hum!  Dat  would  suttenly  be 
fine!  An’  ef  yo’  had  a hun’ed  watermillions,  would  yo’ 
gib  me  fifty?’’ 

“ No,  Ah  wouldn’t.” 

“ Wouldn’t  yo’  gib  me  twenty-five?” 

“ No,  Ah  wouldn’t  gib  yo’  no  twenty-five.” 

Dixie  gazed  with  reproachful  eyes  at  his  close-fisted 
friend.  “ Seems  to  me  you’s  powahful  stingy,  George 
Washin’ton,”  he  said;  and  then  continued,  in  a heart- 
broken voice,  “ Wouldn’t  yo’  gib  me  one?” 

“ No,  Ah  wouldn’t  gib  yo’  one.  Look-a  hyah,  niggah  ! 
Are  yo’  so  good-fer-nuffin’  lazy  dat  yo’  caihn’t  wish  fo’ 
yo’  own  watermillions?” 

Olive  Lawson  Ryder,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

HE  MUST  HAVE  NEEDED  IT. 

A LONG-HAIRED  man,  walking  along  the  street, 
* * met  a little  boy,  who  asked  him  the  time. 

“ Ten  minutes  to  nine,”  the  man  replied. 

“ Well,”  said  the  boy,  “ at  nine  o’clock  get  your  hair 
cut.  ” 

He  took  to  his  heels,  the  aggrieved  one  after  him. 
Turning  the  corner,  the  man  ran  into  a policeman, 
nearly  knocking  him  over-  ^ 


“ What’s  up?”  asked  the  policeman. 

The  man,  very  much  out  of  breath,  said,  “ You  see 
that  young  urchin  running  along  there?  Well,  he  asked 
me  the  time,  and  I told  him,  ‘ Ten  minutes  to  nine, ’and 
he  said,  ‘ At  nine  o’clock  get  your  hair  cut.’  ” 

“ Well,”  said  the  policeman,  “ what  are  you  running 
for?  You  have  eight  minutes  yet.” 

Andrew  T.  Kelly,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

ADMISSION  BY  TICKET. 

J^ANDY  was  a young  colored  girl,  fresh  from  the 
cotton  fields  of  the  South.  One  afternoon  she 
came  to  her  Northern  mistress  and  handed  her  a visiting 
card. 

“ De  lady  wha’  gib  me  dis  is  in  de  pa’lor,”  she  ex- 
plained. “ Dey’s  annoder  lady  on  de  do’step.  ” 

“ Gracious,  Mandy !”  exclaimed  the  mistress.  “ Why 
didn’t  you  ask  both  of  them  to  come  in?” 

“ Cayse,  ma’am,”  grinned  the  girl,  “ de  one  on  de 
do’step  done  fo’git  her  ticket.” 

W.  Irwin  Moyer,  Pittsburgh,  Pa. 

IT  WOULD  PAY  THEN. 

/^NE  DAY  a gentleman,  walking  down  the  boardwalk 
at  Atlantic  City,  saw  an  Irishman  on  his  knees, 
pushing  a dollar  bill  through  one  of  the  cracks.  He 
touched  the  man  on  the  shoulder  and  said,  “ Why  are 
you  doing  that,  my  good  man?” 

The  Irishman  looked  up  and  said,  “ Faith,  and  I jist 
dropped  a nickel  through  the  walk,  and  I thought  I’d 
make  it  worth  me  while  to  tear  up  the  walk  and  get  me 
nickel.”  D.  C.  Alexander,  Atlanta,  Ga. 

AN  IMPORTANT  OMISSION. 

A WISCONSIN  editor  was  visiting  in  Chicago  and  de- 
cided to  buy  a new  panama  hat.  Going  into  a 
store,  he  asked  the  price  of  one  that  looked  good  to  him. 
The  clerk  replied,  “ Fifteen  dollars.” 

Whereat  the  editor  asked,  “ Where  are  the  holes?” 
The  clerk  appeared  bewildered  for  a moment,  but 
managed  to  ask,  “ What  holes?” 

The  editor  replied,  “ The  holes  for  the  ears  of  the  ass 
that  would  pay  fifteen  dollars  for  a hat  like  that.” 

Roqua  Sturgis,  Enid,  Okla. 

PUTTING  IT  OFF. 

AN  IRISHMAN,  on  being  convicted  of  murder,  was 

* * told  by  the  judge  that  he  could  have  the  choice  of 
tree  that  he  was  to  be  hanged  from. 

He  replied,  “ A gooseberry  tree.” 

“ Why,”  said  the  judge,  “ it  is  not  big  enough!” 

“ Well,  ” said  the  Irishman,  “ if  it  plases  your  honor, 
I’ll  wait  till  it  grows.” 

I.  Cullen,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 

UNTIDY. 

Precise  aunt  (trying  to  amuse  Kate,  who  had  come  to 
spend  the  day) — •“  Oh,  see  pussy  washing  her  face!” 

Kate  (with  scbrn) — ■“  She’s  not  washing  her  face — 
she’s  washing  her  feet  and  wiping  ’em  on  her  face.” 

Miss  A.  Ludwig,  Paterson,  N.  J. 

¥F  A MAN  tells  you  he  is  a Bohemian,  be  quite  sure 

* that  his  next  words  will  be,  “ Say,  old  man,  could 
you  lend  me  a dollar?” 


Willie  Cross-questions  His  Ma 


By  J. 

A?” 

“ Yes,  my  son.” 

Can’t  I go  over  to  Henry  Green’s 
and  play  a little  while?” 

“ I don’t  think  so  this  evening,  Willie.” 

“ Can’t  I go  over  and  play  just  for  a few  minutes?” 
“No;  not  this  evening,  Willie.” 

“ Not  if  I come  right  back  in  fifteen  minutes?” 

“ I’ve"  told  you  no  already,  Willie.” 

“ Why  can’t  I go  over,  ma?” 

“Because  I don’t  want  you  to,  Willie.” 

“ Could  I go  if  my  chores  were  all  done,  ma?” 

“ I don’t  want  you  to  go  out  to-night,  Willie.” 

“ Well,  is  it  because  my  chores  ain’t  all  done?” 

“ I didn’t  say  anything  about  chores,  Willie.  I don’t 
want  you  to  go  out  this  evening — that’s  all.” 

“ Well,  if  I did  my  chores  all  up,  could  I go?” 

“ I didn’t  say  so,  Willie.” 

“ Well,  I know ; but  if  it  was  on  account  of  my  chores, 
and  I went  out  and  did  ’em,  could  I go?” 

“ Not  to-night.” 

“ Well,  why  can’t  I go  if  it  ain’t  on  account  of  my 
chores?” 

“ Because  I don’t  wish  you  to  go,  Willie.” 

“ Henry  Green’s  a nice  boy,  ain’t  he,  ma?” 

“ I suppose  so  —yes.” 

“ Well,  it  ain’t  on  account 
of  him  not  being  a nice  boy, 
is  it?” 

“ I didn’t  say  so,  Willie.” 

“ Well,  I know  you  didn’t; 
but  if  it  was  on  account  of  him 
not  being  a nice  boy  you’d  say 
so,  wouldn’t  you?” 

“ I might,  Willie.” 

“ Well,  wouldn’t  you?” 

“I  didn’t  say  anything 
about  Henry  Green,  Willie. 

I merely  said  I didn’t  want  you 
to  go  over  and  play  to-night.  ” 

“ Well,  don’tyou  think  you 
ought  to  tell  me  if  it  was  on 
account  of  Henry  Green?” 

“ William,  I said  you  could- 
n’t go  out  to-night,  and  that 
settles  it.” 

“ I know  ; but  there’s  a 
reason  for  you  not  wanting 
me  to  go  out  to-night,  ain’t 
there?” 

“ I suppose  there  is  a rea- 
son for  everything,  my  son.” 

“ Then  don’t  you  think  you 
ought  to  tell  me  the  reason?” 

“Not  necessarily.  It’s 
enough  when  I tell  you  you 
can’t  go.” 


W.  Foley 

“ But  if  somebody  told  you  you  couldn’t  do  some- 
thing, wouldn’t  you  like  to  know  the  reason,  ma?” 

“ I might  and  I might  not,  Willie.” 

“ But  wouldn’t  you  be  apt  to  want  to  know  it?” 
“William,  don’t  bother  me  any  more.  I said  you 
were  not  to  go,  and  that’s  enough.” 

“ But  Henry  Green’s  all  right  to  play  with,  ain’t  he, 
ma?” 

“ I suppose  he  is,  for  all  I know.” 

“ You  never  heard  of  Henry  Green  being  a bad  boy  to 
play  with,  did  you,  ma?” 

“ I don’t  know  that  I ever  did.” 

“ Well,  if  he  had  been  a bad  boy,  you’d  probably  have 
heard  about  it,  wouldn’t  you?” 

“For  goodness  sake,  Willie!  stop  asking  questions. 
You  can’t  go  out  to-night,  and  that’s  all  there  is  to  it.” 
“ Is  it  because  you  don’t  want  me  to  go  out  this  par- 
ticular night,  ma?” 

“ Never  mind  why  it  is.  You  can’t  go.” 

“ If  it  was  any  other  night  could  I go,  ma?” 

“ The  night  hasn’t  anything  to  do  with  it.  I said  you 
couldn’t  go,  and  don’t  ask  any  more  questions.” 

“ Is  it  because  you’re  afraid  I won’t  get  my  lessons?” 
“ I don’t  know  anything  about  your  lessons,  William. 
If  you  don’t  get  them  you’ll  get  punished  to-morrow.” 

“ Well,  if  I had  ’em  could 
I go  then?” 

“No,  sir;  you  couldn’t.” 

“ Well,  then,  it  must  be 
something  else  — ain’t  it, 
ma?” 

“ It  is  because  I don’t 
choose  to  have  you  go,  and 
that’s  all.” 

“Well,  if  it  was  daytime, 
could  1 go?” 

“ Now,  William,  if  you  ask 
any  more  questions  you’ll  go 
upstairs  to  bed  in  a hurry. 
I’ve  answered  all  the  ques- 
tions I’m  going  to.” 

“ But,  ma,  if  I promised 
Henry  Green  I’d  come  over 
to-night,  don’t  you  think  I 
ought  to  go  over  and  tell  him 
that  I can’t  come,  and  not 
keep  him  waiting?” 

“You  shouldn’t  have  proin= 
ised  Henry  Green  anything 
without  asking  me  first.” 

“I  know;  but  if  I did 
promise  him?” 

“William,  you  be  quiet 
and  don’t  ask  another  ques- 
tion, or  I’M  cunish  you 
severely.  ” 

“ But,  ma,  can’t  I go  out 


“ Thought  you  had  a job  on  a yacht  ?’ 
“ 1 have.  I’m  groom.” 

“ On  a yacht  ?” 

"Yes;  taking  care  of  clothes-horses.” 


more  questions ; but  I had  to  ask 
what  I ought  to  tell  Henry  Green 
when  he  hollered  back,  didn’t 
I?” 

“Are  you  going  upstairs  or 
not?” 

“Ain’t  that  Henry  hollerin’  now 
ma?” 

“ William,  you’ll  drive  me  to 
desperation !” 

“Well,  if  I go  right  up  you 
won’t  whip  me,  will  you,  ma?” 

“No;  not  if  you  go  right  up 
immediately.” 

“ And  can  I holler  to  Henry  out 
of  the  upstairs  window,  ma?” 

(Desperate  rush  up  the  stairs 
by  William,  with  his  mother  a step 
behind  him.  Bedroom  door  closes 
suddenly,  with  William  on  the  in- 
side. Five  minutes  later) : 

“ Ma,  I just  happened  to  think 
it’s  to-morrow  night  I promised  to 
go  over  and  play  with  Henry 
Green,  so  can’t  I come  downstairs 
again?” 


E 


AMONG  THE  PROVINCIALS. 

Mr.  New  Yorker — “ I see  they  attacked  King  Alfonso  in  the  street  and  tried  to  kill  him.” 
Mis.  Tennymeiit — “I  didn’t  know  it.  That’s  the  trouble  with  living  in  a back  flat.  1 never 
see  anything." 

and  just  holler  over  to  Henry  Green  that  I can’t  come  if 
I come  right  back?” 

“Well,  perhaps;  but  if  you  don’t  come  right  back 
you’ll  get  punished  for  it.” 

“ Suppose  Henry  Green  should  offer  to  come  over,  ma 
— what  shall  I tell  him?” 

“ Tell  him  you  can’t  play  outdoors  to-night.” 

“ But  suppose  he  comes  right  over  without  offerin’, 
ma?” 

“ William,  you  go  upstairs  directly  and  wait  till  I 
come !” 

“ Without  hollerin’  over  to  Henry  Green,  ma?” 

“ Yes,  without  waiting  a minute;  and  when  I find  my 
hair-brush,  I’ll  see  whether  you  obey  me  or  not.” 

“ But,  ma,  you  said  I could  holler,  didn’t  you?” 

“ William!” 

“ If  you  hadn’t  said  so  I wouldn’t  have  asked  any 


True  Business  Instinct. 

D WAS  a mighty  bright  negro 
belonging  to  a family  in  Co- 
lumbia, Tenn.  He  had  been  a 
faithful  servant  for  many  years, 
and  by  saving  and  carefully  invest- 
ing his  wages  he  had  belied  the 
usual  thriftlessness  attributed 
with  more  or  less  justice  to  the 
majority  of  his  race. 

His  master  was  an  attorney, 
and  one  morning,  before  he  had 
arisen,  the  lawyer  was  called  upon 
by  Ed,  who  said, 

“ Say,  boss,  Ah  wants  yo’  ter 
draw  me  up  a mawgidge.” 

“ A mortgage?”  asked  his  mas- 
ter. “ What  do  you  want  a mortgage  for?” 

“ Well,  Ah’s  done  lent  Unc’  ’Lisha  five  dollahs,  an’ 
Ah  wants  a mawgidge  on  his  cow  an’  caff.” 

“ Fjr  how  long  have  you  lent  the  money?” 

“ Fo’  one  monf.” 

“ One  month!  Why,  the  interest  on  that  amount  for 
that  time  wouldn’t  pay  for  the  paper  a mortgage  is  writ- 
ten on.  ” 

“Boss,”  said  Ed,  scratching  his  head,  “ Ah  ain’t 
carin’  nuffin’  fo’  dat  intrust — Ah  jes’  wants  dat  niggah’s 
cow  an’  caff.” 

A Mistake  Somewhere. 

Myrtle — “ What’s  the  score?” 

Ethel — “ Eight  to  four.” 

Myrtle — “ You  must  be  mistaken.  I’m  sure  I haven’t 
seen  more  than  three  men  carried  off  the  field.” 


Mrs.  O’Toole  Discusses  National  Assets 

By  Lurana  W.  Sheldon 


HWAT  be  children,  Mrs.  Flannagan?” 

“ Nicissary  evils,”  answered  he”  neigh- 
bor promptly. 

“ Not  havin’  onny,  Oi  am  obliged  to  dis- 
agree wid  ye,”  said  Mrs.  O’Toole,  with  perfect  good 
nature.  “ Children  be  luxuries,  Mrs.  Flannagan,  an’ 
whin  Oi  married  Moike  O’Toole,  shure  Oi  said  to  mesilf, 

* Itemimber,  Ann  O’Toole,  your  husband  is  a poor  mon. 
Don’t  ye  be  afther  gittin’  luxoorious  now,  ar  firing  a 
good  mon  down  to  har-rd  wor-ruk  an’  worry,  tc  say 
nothin’  av  sittin’  a bod  example  to  the  neighbors.’  An’ 
it  do  be  wonderful  how  thim  habits  av  economy  in  them 
directions  do  grow  on  one ! Elivin  years  have  passed 
since  I resolved  thot  risolution,  Mrs.  Flannagan,  an’ 
look  at  me  now  if  ye  plaze ! Oi  have  me  own  automo- 
bubble  an’  me  jools,  an’  Moike  has  not  raised  a pick  in 
his  ar-rm  since  he  wint  into  politics,  an’  all  because  av 
me  good  sinse  in  not  bein’  luxoorious. 

“ An’  there  do  be  another  soide  to  the  question,  Mrs. 
Flannagan,”  went  on  the  speaker.  “ I wor  always  think, 
in’  av  the  exasperatin’ 
percooliarrities  av  in- 
heritince,as  my  sister- 
in-law,  Mame,  would 
call  thim.  ‘Ann,’ she 
sez,  ‘ history  will  re- 
pate itsilf  whin  ye 
least  expect  it.  Mur- 
der will  out,’  sez  she; 

* an’  thim  thot  tells  the 
most  tales  is  fools, 
dead  men  and  chil- 
dren.’ ‘I  know  it, 

Mame,’  sez  Oi;  ‘an’ 
shure  if  ony  one  had 
reason  to  remimber  it, 
the  wife  av  your  broth- 
er, Moike  O’Toole,  is 
the  individooal.  ’ An’ 
it  is  gospil  trut’,  Mrs. 

Flannagan,  thot  mo- 
thers an’  fathers  re- 
vale the  skilitons  in 
their  closets  oftener 
t’ro’  their  offspring 
thon  onny  other  way — - 
the  sapheads  ! An’ 
thim  tricks  av  inhiri- 
tince  do  be  blissid  dis- 
comfortin’, Mrs.  Flan- 
nagan. Sez  Oi  to  me- 
silf just  before  Oi  be- 
gan  me  matootinal 
career  as  a married 
woman,  ‘Ann  O’Toole 
don’t  ye  be  afther  for- 
gittin’  thot  the  sins  av 

2 


the  fathers  an’  gran’fathers,  an’  the  divil  knows  how 
monny  other  ginerashuns  av  malefactors,  fall  an’  de- 
cind  upon  the  children,’  sez  Oi.  ‘Don’t  ye  fergit  to 
remimber  thot  your  own  gran’father  wor  no  better  than 
he  should  be,  to  say  nothin’  av  the  father  avyer  husband, 
Moike  O’Toole,  who  wor  a blackleg  an’  a shape  stealer 
if  iver  there  wuz  one.’ 

“But  listen  to  this,  Mrs.  Flannagan.  The  Prisident 
av  these  Untied  Sthates  has  been  afther  inscribin’  these 
sintimints  upon  the  tablets  av  the  Mothers’  Congress, 
whativer  thot  may  be,  I dunno ! ‘ Children  are  a national 
asset,’  sez  he,  an’  his  teeth  snapped  together  whin  he 
said  it.” 

“ Phwat  object  has  the  Prisidint  in  jollyin’  the  Moth- 
ers av  Congress?  They  can’t  vote,”  broke  in  Mrs. 
Flannagan. 

“No;  but  their  husbands  can,  Mrs.  Flannagan,”  ex- 
plained the  other.  “Poor  things!  They  have  no  toime 
to  vote  or  do  onnything  ilse,  Mrs.  Flannagan,  ixcipt,  do 
ye  moind,  to  be  mothers,  ivery  inch  av  thim,  an’  sthale 

away  now  an’  thin  to 
shake  the  hond  av  the 
Prisidint  an’  thank 
him  for  his  fotygraft. 
But  he’s  the  statesman 
fer  ye,  an’  the  iligant 
gintlemon,  too,  Mrs. 
Flannagan  ! Sez  he  to 
himsilf,  ‘ 0 i ’ m d e- 
loighted  wid  me  oppor- 
toonity  to  secure  the 
vote  av  the  good,  rip- 
resintative  citizens  av 
the  1 o n d ’■ — for,  a v 
coorse,  they  do  be  all 
married  women,  bar- 
rin’  the  widdys,  Mrs. 
Flannagan — ‘ an’,’  sez 
he  out  loud,‘  shure  the 
hond  thot  rocks  the 
cradle  marks  the  ballot 
also,’  sez  he,  an’  ig- 
norin’ the  fact  thot  it 
is  the  nur-rse  gur-rl’s 
hond  thot  rocks  the 
cradle,  whin  it  gits 
rocked,  Mrs.  Flanna- 
gan, he  goes  on  to  say, 
‘ If  the  mothers  av  the 
lond  are  wid  me,  Oi 
don’t  give  a pea- 

nut if  Hearst  an’  Bry- 
an are  agin  me!’  Thin 
he  shook  thim  all  by 
the  hond,  Mrs.  Flan- 
nagan, an’  writ  thot 
message  on  thim 


WHY  HE  HESITATES. 

Mr.  Tim  O'  Gerrity — Oi  hate  t*  vote  for  a lot  av  foreigners.  There’s 
not  an  Oirishman  on  th’  ticket,  be  gorr y I" 


loines  Oi  wor  just  afther  rapaytin’,  thot 
children  do  be  a national  asset. 

“ Now  Oi  lave  it  to  you  if  he  is  right, 

Mrs.  Flannagan  ! Ye  are  the  proud  mother 
av  noine,  not  countin’  the  four  thot  are 
dead  an’  gone  to  glory,  Mrs.  Flannagan. 

Oi’ll  begin  by  askin’  ye  about  yees  oldest 
b’y  ” - 

“ Don’t  sphake  av  him  at  all,  at  all,  if 
ye  plaze,  Mrs.  O’Toole!  Shure  it’s  in  jail 
he  is  this  blissid  minute,  bad  luck  to  the 
spalpeen !” 

“ An’yer  second  son,  Mrs.  Flannagan?” 

“ Shure  he’s  the  booze  artist  av  the 
war-rd,  if  ye  will  have  it,  Mrs.  O’Toole,” 
was  the  answer. 

“ An’  the  thir-rd  son — or  is  it  a gur-rl 
thot  slipped  in  just  at  this  point,  Mrs. 

Flannagan?” 

“It’s  a b’y,”  said  Mrs.  Flannagan. 

‘‘An’  he’s  a dead  ringer  for  his  daddy. 

They  do  be  both  av  thim  in  the  loafin’ 
business  together  at  prisent.  ” 

“ An’  the  next  are  twogur-rls,  if  Oi’m 
not  mistaken,  Mrs.  Flannagan?” 

Mrs.  Flannagan  nodded  her  head. 

‘‘Thirzy  an’ Tiny,  Mrs.  O’Toole.  Shure 
Thirzy  has  gone  to  the  bad  altogether,  poor 
thing!  an’  Tiny  is  showin’  symptoms  av 
runnin’  a close  second  to  her  sister.  ” 

“ That’s  foive  av  thim  assets  av  the 
Prisidint’s,”  said  Mrs.  O’Toole  calmly. 

“ There  do  be  four  av  thim  lift.  Ye  can  loomp  thim  if 
ye’d  rather,  Mrs.  Flannagan.” 

‘‘The  last  four  be  b’ys  at  prisint, ” went  on  Mrs. 
Flannagan  meekly.  “ Just  phwat  they  may  be  later  on 
Oi  dunno,  Oi’m  shure.  They’re  no  use  at  all,  at  all,  but 


He  said  I was  a white  pearl  shining 


UNORIGINAL. 

Alice — “ Jack  was  so  romantic  in  his  proposal ! 
on  a sun-kissed  coral  strand  ” 

Maude  (disgusted) — “ Can’t  Jack  ever  be  original  ? He  said  the  same  thing  to  me 
three  years  ago,  and  I know  that  he  cribbed  the  expression  from  a ten-cent  calendar.” 


__ 


1 


■ 

• ■-  m 


THE  SOUVENIR  CRAZE. 

Pat  (just  over) — “ Do  ye  moind  phat  Oi  be  afther  bringin’  home 
They  was  givin’  ’em  away  on  th’  cyars.” 


to  rush  the  growler  for  their  father  on  a Saturday  night- 
They’ll  do  thot  same,  Mrs.  O’Toole,  until  the  cows  come 
home,  but  divil  a thing  will  they  do  for  me,  not 
if  Oi  go  down  on  me  shin  bones  to  ask  it  av  thim, 
the  divils!” 

‘‘Thim  statemints  do  back 
up  my  own  observations  in  a 
remar-rkable  manner,  Mrs. 
Flannagan,”  said  Ann  O’Toole 
thoughtfully.  “ An’  it’s  quare, 
but  thim  silfsame  assets  seem  to 
be  in  ivery  tiniment  t’ro’out  the 
lingth  an’  bredth  av  Noo  Yor-rk 
City.  It  do  be  strange,  Mrs. 
Flannagan,  if  children  are  a na- 
tional asset,  tho  it  should  be 
nicissary  to  build  so  monny  re- 
for-rmatories  -for  thim.  But  it’s 
a strange  wur-rld,  Mrs.  Flanna- 
gan, an’  we  have  a quare  way 
av  balancin’  our  account  wid  it, 
Oi’m  afther  thinkin’ ! If  children 
, loike  yours — an’  there  don’t  be 
onny  great  difference  in  children, 
Mrs.  Flannagan — if  children  av 
this  brand  do  be  national  assets, 
phwat  in  the  name  av  the  Howly 
Virgin  an  all  the  saints  are  the 
national  liabilities,  Mrs.  Flan- 


-all  these  coolered  s’  uvenirs  ? 


nagan 


?»* 


THE  AUTO  WEAKNESS. 


OUT  OF  HEARING. 

Disconsolate  duck — “ There ! that  fellow  is  telling 
the  ostrich  a fine  joke  and  1 can’t  get  in  on  it.” 


He  Took  a Correspondence  Course. 

JOHN  PRESCOTT  MIDDLETON,  ESQ.,  the  corpulent 
president  of  the  Amalgamated  Interstate  Ice  Com- 
pany, treasurer  of  the  Brown  Security  and  Finance  Com- 
pany, whirled  around  in  his  office  chair  and  frowned  at 
the  slowly-opening  door  of  his  private  office. 

The  door  opens  wider.  Enter  a long,  cadaverous  in- 
dividual with  dreamy  eyes.  He  gazes  at  the  president 
with  a far-away  look,  and  hands  him  a note.  .The  presi- 
dent reads  it  half  aloud. 


“ My  Dear  Sir — Directly  underneath  you  are  forty 
pounds  of  dynamite.  I own  the 
office  below,  and  have  skillfully 
arranged  the  apparatus  which 
will  blow  you  into  eternity  if  I 
raise  my  hand  to  give  the  signal. 

Yes,  I am  crazy,  perhaps;  but 
do  not  get  excited  and  puff  up, 
for  I might  give  the  signal  on 


INFANT  WONDER. 

“ If  you’re  a real  dog  why  don’t  you  bark  ? 


the  slightest  provocation.  Remain  calm  until  you  finish 
this  letter.  Prepare  yourself  for  a few  minutes  of  cool, 
subdued  thinking — perhaps  the  last  thoughts  you  will 
ever  think.  Man,  I need  $5,000,  and  need  it  quickly. 
Perhaps  I have  said  enough. 

“ Sulphurously  yours,  The  Bearer.” 

The  president  grows  purple.  The  cadaverous  indi- 
vidual raises  his  hand  and  says, 

“ Listen!  Having  succeeded  in  securing  your  utmost 
attention  (a  matter  very  difficult  with  a man  of  your 
position),  I beg  of  you  not  to  call  the  police  or  raise  an 
alarm.  I have  no  dynamite ! I simply  have  here  a won- 
derful corn-cure — Bunkum’s  One-hour  Corn-cure.  Why, 

man  alive ! it’s  worth  ” 

Bang!  Crash!  Brrrrrrr,  krrrrrb,  brrr! Thump! 

“ And  to  think,”  said  the  cadaverous  individual  as  he 
picked  himself  up  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  ‘‘ that  I 
have  just  finished  a correspondence  course  in  advertising 
writing,  and  that  was  the  scheme  on  page  fourteen. 
‘ First  get  your  customer’s  attention,  then  pound  him 
with  the  goods,’  was  the  idea  ” Charles  h.  fitch. 

In  the  South. 

U TVID  you  see  a dark-skinned  man  running  down  the 
road?” 

“ Well,  I saw  a man  in  the  hands  of  a mob  about  a 
mile  down  the  pike.  He  was  dark,  all  right,  and  I 
’spect  he’s  skinned  by  this  time.” 


THE  CAUSE  AND  EFFECT. 


Jealous  suitor — “ Of  course  he  clasped  you  in  his  arms  when  the  boat 
upset?” 

Fashion-plate — “ No  ; just  the  opposite.” 

Jealous  suitor — “ Just  the  opposite  ? What  do  you  mean?  (> 

Fashion-plate Why,  the  boat  upset  when  he  clasped  me  in  his  arms." 


* 


STUNG! 


T HE  H YPNOTIST 

i 

By  NORMAN  H.  CROWELL- 


WjrYPNERTISM  is  th’  dumbdest  thing  I ever 
run  agin,”  said  Eliphalet  Briggs.  ‘‘Al- 
Jl  A ways  made  chills  run  up  my  back  to  think 
of  it,  until  I see  this  feller  over  to  Exiry 
t’other  evenin’.  He  wa’n’t  at  all  scarjl — not  a bit. 
Jest  about  throw  a feller  into  a fit  a-laughin’,  though. 
I was  that  sore  when  th’  show  let  out  I could  hardly  get 
off’n  my  chair — that’s  a fact!” 

Briggs  tapped  his  pipe  against  his  boot  heel  and  lei- 
surely replenished  it.  After  it  had  got  to  going  good 
he  looked  over  at  Thompson,  the  proprietor,  and  re- 
marked casually, 

“ Roll  up  a couple  pounds  o’  them  best  prunes,  Eli. 
Ye’ll  have  to  book  it,  I guess,  seein’s  I left  my  pocket- 
book  to  home  on  th’  radiator.” 

The  proprietor  was  trimming  up  the  cheese  with  the 
scissors.  He  laid  these  down  and  faced  about. 

“ I sent  you  a letter  to-day,  ’Liph — did  you  get  it?” 
he  asked. 

“ Yep,  Eli,  I did.  You’re  a fine  writer,  Eli.  But  I 
can’t  do  nothin’  for  ye  jest  yet.  Them  two  shotes  o’ 
mine  are  too  light  for 
market,  Eli.  Give  ’em 
time  — an’  swill  — an’ 
they’ll  amount  to  some- 
thin’!” 

Thompson  snorted  in 
righteous  indignation  and 
resumed  h i s unfinished 
trimming  operation. 

Bill  Fikes  stirred  un- 
easily and  crossed  his 
legs. 

‘‘What  about  that 
hypnotist,  ’Liph?”  he 
ventured. 

The  crowd  threw  Bill 
a bouquet  of  admiring 
glances  and  hitched  near- 
er the  speaker  of  the  even- 
ing. Briggs,  after  allow- 
ing a look  of  surprise  to 
drift  aimlessly  over  his 
countenance,  fitted  h i s 
pipe  in  the  extreme  cor- 
ner of  his  mouth  and  re- 
sumed. 

“ I can’t  tell  jest  all 
that  he  did,  for  there  was 
some  things  I didn’t 
ketch  onto.  First  he  took 
a bunch  o’  young  bloods 
up  onto  th’  stage,  an’  felt 
o’  their  heads  to  see  if 


they  had  brains  in  ’em  or  jest  ground  feed.  He  said 
he’d  found  some  fellers  with  too  much  brains  for  th’ 
hypnertism  business,  an’  a whole  lot  more  that  didn’t 
have  no  more  sign  o’  brains  than  a hitchin’-post.  Said 
what  he  was  lookin’  after  was  fellers  with  jest  ordinary 
brains — sort  o’  medium,  not  raw,  nor  yet  overdone. 

“ After  he’d  sorted  a while  he  picked  out  half  a dozen 
fellers  an’  said  he  guessed  he  was  ready  to  begin  th’  fun. 
After  he’d  cracked  a few  ol’  jokes  at  th’  audience  he 
turned  on  them  fellers  real  sudden  an’  says, 

“ ‘ Boys,  I’ve  jest  noticed  that  you’re  all  stuck  fast 
to  them  seats.  You  can’t  get  loose!  Jest  see  if  you 
can,  boys !’ 

“ Say,  you’d  ’a’  died  right  there!  Them  six  fellers 
nigh  worked  ’emselves  into  a fever  tryin’  to  get  away 
from  them  chairs.  But  they  couldn’t.  When  we  was 
jest  gaspin’  for  breath,  th’  hypnertizer  eased  ’em  up  by 
tellin’  ’em  he  was  mistaken  an’  that  he  guessed  they 
could  get  loose  all  right.  Th’  fellers  stood  up  an’  looked 
at  each  other  sheepish. 

‘‘Th’  hypnertist  come  down  front  an’  told  us  to  be 

careful  not  to  hurt  th’ 
boys’  feelin’s  by  laughin’, 
as  they  were  doin’  th’ 
best  they  could. 

“ Then  he  give  a jump 
at  th’  fellers  an’  tells 
’em  their  noses  are  all 
made  out  o’  rubber. 
Maybe  them  boys  didn’t 
look  surprised!  They 
reached  up  an’  felt  o’ 
their  noses  kind  of  easy, 
an’  looked  so  foolish  it 
would  give  ye  a coughin’ 
fit  to  look  at.  One  feller 
stretched  his  nose  out 
about  two  feet,  an’  it 
slipped  out  o’  his  fingers 
an’ — kabang!  It  nigh 
knocked  ’im  down!  O’ 
course  this  was  jest  in 
their  minds,  ye  know. 
But  they  acted  it  mighty 
exact  an’  appropriate,  I 
tell  ye. 

‘‘After  that  th’  hyp- 
nertizer told  ’em  he  was 
goin’  to  take  ’em  fishin’. 
He  led  ’em  up  to  th’  front 
o’  th’  stage  an’  swings 
out  his  arm. 

‘‘‘Look,  boys!  See 
this  big  pond  chuck  full 


The  cock  of  the  walk  out  in  Brewster 
Was  a corpulent  old  Shanghai  rooster. 
Thanksgiving,  'tis  said. 

They  chopped  off  his  head, 
And  now  he  don’t  crow  like  he  uster. 


HE  KNEW. 

O'  Hooly — “ Do  ye  be  knowin’  phat’s  causin’  all  this  rumpus  wid  Japan,  Misther  O’Rooly  ?” 

O'  Rooly — “ Why,  Oi  see  be  th’  papers  thot  in  some  av  thim  auction-rooms  in  th’  big  cities  they  do  be 
always  knockin'  down  Japanase  art  goods,  an'  Oi  guiss  th’  Japs  ain't  goin’  to  shtand  fer  it  anny  longer.” 

o’  big,  fat  suckers!  Throw  in  your  hooks  an’  see  what 
you  can  land !’ 

“ He  handed  ’em  little  switches  with  pieces  o’  string 
tied  to  ’em,  an’  they  started  in.  It  was  th’  greatest 
fishin’  I ever  see.  We  jest  laid  right  back  on  th’  cush- 
ions an’  cackled.  One  feller  thought  he  had  a whale  on, 
an’  he  nigh  broke  his  back  pullin’  it  in.  When  he  did, 
he  made  a flyin’  leap  onto  th’  hypnertizer’s  grip  an’  hung 
to  it  for  dear  life.  Yell?  Maybe  we  didn’t !” 

Briggs  paused  to  retamp  his  pipe  and  get  a fresh 
breath. 

“ What  else,  ’Liph?”  prompted  Fikes. 

“ Well,  lie  had  them  fellers  up  in  balloons,  an’  chasin’ 
rats,  an’  in  swimmin’,  an’  pursued  by  hornets,  an’  eatin’ 
hot  pie,  an’  such  things  till  twelve  o’clock.  It  beat 
anything  I ever  see  or  expect  to  ag’in.” 

The  speaker  allowed  this  to  sink  in  thoroughly.  Then 
he  arose  and  brushed  a pipeful  of  hot  ashes  from  his  vest 
front.  He  was  just  sitting  down  again  when  the  door 
opened  and  Ephrum  Smith  came  in.  He  scanned  the 
group  narrowly  until  his  eye  fell  on  Briggs,  who  favored 
him  with  a reassuring  wink. 

Close  behind  Smith  was  another  figure — a stranger. 

He  had  a distinctly  metallic  face,  being  possessed  of  a 
complexion  of  bronze,  a jaw  of  iron,  and  eyes  with  a 
steely  glitter.  At  sight  of  him  Eliphalet  Briggs  leaped 
to  his  feet  and  exclaimed  huskily, 

“ By  gum ! It’s  th’  hypnertist  feller !” 

Instantly  all  eyes  drew  a bead  on  the  dark  stranger. 


Smith,  noticing  the  inter- 
est, blushed  rosily  and 
stroked  his  chin  stubble. 

“ Yep,  boys ; Briggs  is 
right.  This  is  Perfesser 
— Perfesser — what’s  that 
name  ag’in,  perfesser?” 
“Bonelli,”  said  the 
stranger,  in  a low,  even 
tone. 

“ Oh,  yes ! Well,  boys, 
this  is  Perfesser  Bone 
Ella,  an’  he  is  a hypner- 
tist.  I run  onto  him  down 
to  th’  depot,  where  he 
was  waitin’  for  th’  nine- 
fifteen  train.  Bein’  an 
accommodatin’  feller,  he 
is  goin’  to  give  us  an  ex- 
hibition jest  to  pass  th’ 
time  away.” 

Smith  hesitated,  made 
a sweeping  bow  and 
glanced  expectantly  at 
the  stranger.  He  stepped 
slightly  forward. 

“ Mr.  Smith  is  cor- 
rect, gentlemen,”  said 
he.  “ I have  a few  mo- 
ments of  time  to  dispose 
of,  and  as  your  friend  in- 
timated that  you  were 
liable  to  show  some  skepticism  I consented  to  appear.  I 
trust  it  will  not  interfere  with  business,  Mr.  Pro- 
prietor?” 

Thompson  expanded  visibly  at  being  thus  interrogated 
and  replied, 

“ Not  in  the  slightest,  professor,  I assure  you.” 

“ Thanks.  And  will  some  gentleman  have  the  kind- 
ness to  volunteer  as  a subject?” 

Dead,  clammy  silence  prevailed,  while  the  professor 
rolled  his  sleeves  back  in  a businesslike  manner. 

“ Come,  come,  men — suggest  somebody,”  he  urged. 

“ Thompson  !”  came  a voice. 

“That’s  it — Thompson!”  added  another. 

Thompson  colored  a brilliant  mauve  tint.  He  also 
coughed. 

“ Come  on,  Mr.  Thompson,”  said  the  hypnotist  coax- 
ingly.  “ There  is  no  danger,  and,  besides,  you  may  not 
be  a satisfactory  subject.  It  will  require  but  a moment 
to  decide.  There — hold  your  head  in  that  position  and 
think — absolutely — of  nothing.” 

“ I — I can’t!”  said  Thompson  desperately. 

“Then  think  of  this  gentleman  here,”  said  the  pro- 
fessor, tapping  Briggs  lightly  on  the  top  of  the  head. 
Briggs  wilted  perceptibly. 

Obediently  Thompson  focused  his  gaze  on  an  antique 
hornet’s  nest  on  the  ceiling  and  breathed  in  a labored 
manner.  The  professor  tiptoed  toward  him,  frowned, 
sighed,  gritted  his  teeth  and  snapped  his  fingers  per- 
plexedly. 


“ I’m  sorry,  Mr.  Thompson,”  he  said;  “ but  the  rare- 
factions of  your  molecular  resistance  are  too  cohesive 
for  proper  ratiocination  of  extraneous  impressions.” 

Thompson  looked  slightly  puzzled  and  resumed  his 
gaze  at  the  hornet’s  nest. 

“ You  are  excused,  Mr.  Thompson,”  mildly  remarked 
the  hypnotist. 

Thompson  swallowed  the  lump  that  had  grown  in  his 
throat  and  retired  to  the  protection  of  the  counter. 

‘‘Try  ’Liph  Briggs,  perfesser, ” suggested  Smith. 
“ Seems  to  me  ’Liph’s  stupefactions  are  about  amalga- 
mous  to  your  work.” 

The  professor  started  and  glanced  at  the  speaker  in  a 
surprised  manner,  while  Briggs  rose  half-way  and  re- 
moved his  pipe. 

“ I’ll  go  in  pervidin’  Eph  Smith  goes  too,” 
said  Briggs  firmly. 

“ Come  on — you  don’tbluff  me,”  said  Smith. 

When  the  two  stood  up  together,  Briggs 
surreptitiously  pinched  Smith’s  left  leg.  Smith 
returned  the  caress,  and  mutual  confidence  was 
established.  While  the  professor  was  rear- 
ranging the  scenery  Briggs  whispered  anxiously 
to  his  companion, 

“ Is  it  all  fixed,  Eph?” 

“ Sure — th’  perfesser  is  on — it’s  0.  K.” 

Then  the  hypnotist  faced  them,  made  a hur- 
ried preliminary  examination,  which  proved 
satisfactory,  and  remarked  to  the  audience, 

“These  are  good  subjects.  One  has  a wee 
trifle  more  brains  than  the  law  allows,  the 
other  not  quite  enough,  but  they  balance  up 
pretty  well.  ” 

Briggs  and  Smith  glared  at  each  other  a 
brief  instant,  then  looked  at  the  professor 
again. 

“ I will  now  demonstrate  a few  of  the 
strange  wonders  of  hypnotism.  By  placing 
these  two  gentlemen  in  a hypnotic  state,  I 
will  be  able  to  control  their  actions  by  sugges- 
tions given  by  myself.  Are  you  ready,  gen- 
tlemen?” 

“ Yes,”  said  the  two  aspirants,  in  a breath. 

The  hypnotist  made  two  rapid  passes, picked 
a few  imaginary  cherries  off  the  victims’  nos- 
trils and  exclaimed, 

“ Gentlemen,  you  are  Plymouth  Rock  roost- 
ers and  it  is  three  o’clock  in  the  morning.  Time 
to  crow,  isn’t  it?” 

To  the  amazement  of  the  crowd  Briggs  and 
Smith  flopped  their  arms  wildly  and  engaged 
in  a vigorous  crowing  duet. 

“Great!  Make  ’em  fight,  perfesser!”  de- 
manded Bill  Fikes. 

Before  the  professor  could  voice  the  sugges- 
tion, however,  the  two  roosters  had  discovered 
an  animus  and  were  facing  each  other  in  con- 
ventional style.  Smith,  in  executing  a series 
of  defiant  scratches,  kicked  over  the  mackerel 
pail. 

“ Hi!  Stop  that!”  yelled  Thompson. 


“ They  can’t  hear  you — they’re  under  the  influence,” 
said  the  hypnotist. 

“ Well,  change  ’em  into  something  else — I don’t  want 
any  poultry  in  here,”  growled  the  proprietor. 

The  professor  spoke  sternly  to  the  combatants  and 
they  desisted  at  once. 

“ Boys,”  said  the  hypnotist,  addressing  his  assistants, 
“ I’ve  just  noticed  that  there  are  live  tarantulas  crawl- 
ing all  over  you.  Get  ’em  off,  quick!” 

Smith  and  Briggs  jumped  a yard  high  and  emitted 
war  whoops  of  fright.  Then  they  began  to  shed  clothing 
with  terrible  earnestness.  At  the  proper  moment  the 
hypnotist  halted  them  and  tcld  them  they  had  been  ir 
swimming,  and  that  the  fiist  one  to  gel  bis  clothes  or 
would  win  a prize.  A race  ensued  that  threw  the  crowd 


A REPROOF. 

“ Tom,  it’s  dreadful  for  you  to  lose  so  much  money  gambling.” 
“ Do  you  want  me  to  renounce  the  card-table  ?” 

“ No,  dear ; I want  you  to  play  a better  game.” 


Grand  opera  certainly  se.  ves  a great  purpose,  does  it  not 
‘ Yes.  One  always  appreciates  rag-time  so  much  more  after  hearing  it. 


into  pangs  of  joy.  The  professor  smiled  blandly  and 
glanced  at  the  proprietor. 

9 “I  will  now  produce  the  most  difficult  and  peculiar 
feat  in  the  hypnotic  art.  It  is  known  as  the  recurrent 
exhibition.  For  instance,  I command  the  subject  to  per- 
form something  to-day  and  impress  upon  him  that  he 
must  do  the  same  thing  every  day  for  a week  or  a 
month.  He  will  carry  out  the  schedule  faithfully,  no 
matter  how- many  hundred  miles  I am  away.” 

The  professor  glanced  about,  apparently  striving  to 
think  of  some  simple  little  feat  that  would  serve  as  an 
example  of  his  claim.  At  length  he  seemed  to  solve  it. 

“ Boys,”  said  he,  confronting  the  subjects,  “ did  you 
know  that  the  proprietor  of  this  store  is  a most  generous 
man?  He  is  so  liberal  that  he  insists  upon  presenting 
this  entire  store  to  you  for  five  minutes  every  day  for  a 
whole  month  ! He  says — hold  on!” 

The  subjects  had  made  a concerted  move  toward  the 
cider  barrel. 

“ He  says  that  you  must  use  discretion  and  modera- 
tion, but  that  you  are  to  consider  everything  eatable  and 
drinkable  as  yours.  I must  leave  to  catch  my  train  now, 
boys,  and  you  may  go  ahead.  It  is  all  yours  for  five 
minutes,  remember!” 

The  professor  remained  merely  long  enough  to  see  his 
subjects  jump  heatedly  over  the  counter  and  throw  the 
startled  proprietor  into  the  middle  of  the  floor.  When 
he  passed  the  window  he  saw  them  grouped  before  the 
cider  barrel,  while  Thompson  stood  aloof  with  his  watch 
in  hand  and  a pained  expression  running  riot  over  his 
features. 

The  ensuing  five  minutes  were  busy  ones  for  the  hyp- 
notized. They  ate  and  drank  freely,  lit  cigars  and  nib- 
bled promiscuously  from  candy  to  codfish.  They  were 
entirely  at  peace  with  the  world  when  Thompson’s  watch 
cheered  its  owner  by  ticking  off  the  last  second 
of  the  allotted  time. 

“ Time ’s  up!”  yelled  the  proprietor.  “ Get 
out  of  that,  you  infernal  thieves!” 

The  subjects  gave  sudden  starts  of  surprise, 
rubbed  their  eyes  and  stole  out  from  behind  the 
counter. 

“ What  was  we  doin’,  boys?”  asked  Smith, 
as  he  removed  his  cigar  and  eyed  it  proudly. 

Thompson  saw  his  chance  in  a flash  and 
stepped  forward. 

“ I'll  tell  ye.  That  hypnertist  told  ye  that 
ye  was  in  th’  army  an’  th’  enemy  was  cornin’ 
on  full  tilt.  He  ordered  ye  to  charge,  an’  you 
fellers  jumped  over  the  counter  an’  hid  behind 
th’  cheese  box.  Didn’t  they,  boys?” 

“ Yep!” 

“ You  bet !” 

Smith  and  Briggs  looked  guiltily  at  each 
other  and  grinned.  Thompson  breathed  easier 
as  he  went  back  and  took  a look  at  the  havoc. 

A hasty  inventory  told  him  that  the  five  min- 
utes of  foreign  proprietorship  had  cost  him  in 
the  neighborhood  of  one  dollar  and  eighty-five 
cents.  He  saw  at  a glance  that  a thirty-day 
repetition  of  such  a “recurrent  exhibition” 
spelled  ruin 


He  slept  fitfully  that  night.  Twice  he  dreamed  that 
he  choked  a hypnotist  to  death  and  threw  his  worthless 
carcass  into  the  briny  billows  of  the  ocean. 

In  his  mail  next  morning  was  a postal  card  addressed 
in  a small,  crabbed,  anarchistic  script. 

“ Asafoetida  cures  recurrent  exhibitions.  Bonelli.” 

Thompson  perused  this  message  several  times  before 
the  cobwebs  cleared  from  his  brain.  Then  he  saw  a 
great— a magnificent  light.  He  bought  a quarter’s 
worth.  Personal  investigation  proved  that  the  drug  was 
still  in  possession  of  all  its  youthful  faculties.  Thomp- 
son deftly  buttered  some  choice  honey  creams  with  the 
hypnotism  panacea,  and  disposed  the  creams  in  a most 
enticing  manner.  He  then  surveyed  his  handiwork  and 
patted  himself  on  the  back — mentally. 

“ Let  ’em  recur — blame  ’em!”  he  hissed. 

They  recurred.  Promptly  at  the  minute  Smith  and 
Briggs  bounded  into  the  tobacco  smoke  and  landed  amid 
the  eatables.  They  had  been  there  about  seventeen 
seconds  when  Briggs  located  the  honey  creams.  One 
went  into  his  mouth'with  dispatch,  while  a second  was 
held  in  ready  reserve.  Twice  did  his  jaws  come  down 
with  hypnotic  force — then  paused  in  their  stride.  He 
turned  undecidedly  toward  Smith  and  drew  a long, 
quivery  breath.  Silently  he  handed  Smith  a big  honey 
cream. 

Smith  seized  the  delicacy  with  avidity  and  transferred 
it  to  his  face.  A pulsating  moment — then  he  gazed  deep 
into  the  dewy  orbs  of  his  silent  partner.  They  remained 
thus  nearly  a minute,  while  the  emporium  proprietor 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  slowly  grew  black  in  the 
countenance. 

Then,  with  muffled  yells,  the  unhypnotized  victims 
leaped  the  counter  and  melted  away  toward  the  door. 

Hen  Sanders  found  Thompson  in  a choking  condition 


BIG-GUN  LOGIC. 

First  statesman — “ But  you  can’t  prove  that  wrong  is  right.’ 

Second  statesman — “ Oh,  yes,  you  can — if  you  have  a big  enough  navy. 


LITERALLY  ? 

Jinks — “ There  is  a millionaire  who  began  his 
career  as  clerk  in  a cigar-store.” 

Binks — “Yes;  1 heard  some  one  say  that  he 
had  risen  from  the  ranks." 

and  revived  him  by  throwing  a mug  of  cider  down  his 

collar. 

It  was  a full  week  before  the  saddened  features  of 
the  late  subjects  were  noticed  in  the  circle  of  faces 
clustered  about  the  emporium  stove.  Thompson  had 
proved  that  there  are  some  things  far  stronger  than 
hypnotism,  and  he  shared  his  secret  with  two  men — 
Smith  and  Briggs. 

A Bark  for  Barker. 

'W'HE  EDITOR  sat  in  his  easy-chair.  Editors  always 
* have  easy-chairs— in  fiction.  He  looked  at  his  cor- 
respondence. He  thought  he  recognized  the  handwriting 
on  one  of  the  envelopes.  He  sighed. 

“Another  poem,”  said  he,  reaching  for  the  waste- 
paper  basket.  He  opened  the  letter.  He  was  agreeably 
disappointed.  It  was  prose.  It  ran  as  follows: 

“ A man  named  Barker  had  a dog  that  barked,  so  he 
called  it  Barker,  because  it  barked  and  because  his  own 
name  was  Barker.  So  the  man  was  Barker,  and  the  dog, 
that  barked,  was  Barker.  The  man  didn’t  bark,  although 
his  name  was  Barker.  Barker  and  Barker  went  for  a 
walk,  and  Barker  barked — that  is,  dog  Barker,  not  man 
Barker.  In  iact,  dog  Barker  barked  so  much  that  man 
Barker  said,  ‘ Barker,  don’t  bark  so  often — you  never 
hear  me  bark.’  Just  then  man  Barker  barked  his  shin 
on  the  bark  of  a tree,  and  barked  like  anything.” 

The  editor  paused.  There  was  a note  inclosed,  which 
ran,  “ Please  send  check  for  inclosed  to  me  at  1001  Barker 
Avenue,  City.”  Then  did  the  deus  ex-machina  write, 
with  a smile,  “ I have  received  your  joke,  and  will  send 
check — when  my  bark  comes  in.” 

Might  Get  Discouraged. 

ii  ¥ SEE  that  a blind  man  has  been  nominated  for  chap- 
* lain  of  a senate  out  West.  ” 

“ Well,  it’s  probably  best  that  a man  who  has  to  pray 
for  politicians  can’t  see  what  hopeless  cases  he  is  pray- 
ing for.’> 


A Good  Investment. 

The  Cuban  Ayuntamiento,  not  finding  sufficient  money  to  make  very 
necessary  water-works  improvements,  aroused  protests  in  the  news- 
papers by  purchasing  a whale  for  $1,500  for  Havana  University. — Newt 
item. 

HERE  the  food  for  thought  is  ample. 

As  a philosophic  sample 
Of  a very  good  example 
Buy  a whale. 

When  the  gall  supplants  the  honey, 

When  the  world  no  more  is  sunny, 

When  yon  haven’t  any  money, 

Buy  a whale. 

When  your  wife,  all  pursuits  dropping. 

For  a spool  of  thread  goes  shopping, 

Let  her  surely,  prior  to  stopping, 

Buy  a whale. 

Wall  Street  lambs  will  know  no  slaughter 
If  they  draw  the  line  some  tauter, 

And  instead  of  buying  water 

Buy  a whale.  Mc  landburgh  wilson. 

So  Long  Ago. 

Little  nephew — “ Grandma,  how  old  are  you?” 
Grandma — “ I am  seventy-five  years  old.” 

Little  nephew — “Phew!  It’s  so  long  since  you  were 
born  I suppose  it  seems  as  if  it  never  happened.” 


EXPERIENCE  THE  GREAT  TEACHER. 

“But,  Captain  Brace,  why  do  they  always  call  a ship  ‘she’?” 

“ Lord,  miss ! you  wouldn't  ask  that  sf  you’d  ever  tried  ter  steer  one. 


Twiggy  Is  Disengaged 

By  William  John  Barr  Moses 


L\i  \ JkYBY’  WHAT’S  the  matter,  Twiggy?” 
n/u  asked  Randolph,  noting  the  gloom 

w ▼ which  overhung  his  young  friend’s 

countenance,  a gloom  compared  with 
which  that  of  the  most  sombre  undertaker  would  have 
seemed  wild  hilarity. 

“ Matter?”  grunted  Van  Twilliger,  junior,  from  the 
profound  depths  of  his  dejection.  “ Matter  enough ! I’m 
engaged.” 


‘‘ En-ga-a-a-a-ged !”  shouted  Randolph,  with  pro- 
longed emphasis.  “ Why,  man,  that’s  a matter  for  con- 
gratulation. That  isn’t  a thing  to  be  so  down  in  the 
mouth  over.  ’ ’ 

“P’rhaps  not, ” muttered  Twiggy;  “ ’f  a feller  was 
engaged  t’  only  two  ’r  three  girls  ’twouldn’t  be  s’  bad.” 

“ You  don’t  mean  to  say  that  you’re  engaged  to  more 
than  two  or  three?”  queried  Randolph  aghast. 

“ Do,  too,”  asserted  Twiggy  stoutly. 

“ How  many?” 

“ T’  thirteen.” 

“ Great  Scott!  Thirteen?”  And  then,  as  the  full  ef- 
fect of  the  statement  made  itself  felt,  he  added,  wonder- 
ingly,  after  a pause,  “ Great  Jerusalem!” 

“ ’Nlucky  number,”  murmured  Twiggy  with  a wan 
smile. 

Randolph  seated  himself  confidentially  by  his  friend’s 
side  and  put  his  hand  on  the  other’s  arm. 

“ Come,  tell  a fellow  all  about  it,”  he  said  ingratiat- 
ingly. 

‘‘Aw,  ’t’s  all  Armstrong’s  fault,  ” grunted  Twiggy. 


“ How?” 


Twiggy  sat  up  a little  in  order  to  have  more  freedom 
for  the  recital  of  his  wrongs. 

“ ’T  was  this  way.  Guv’ner  said  ’d  got  t’  get  mar- 
ried, settle  down,  all  that;  cutoff  my  Towance  ’f  didn’t. 
’D  set  time  limit.  Just  up  now.  I told  Armstrong. 
He  said  why  not  write  t’  ’bout  a dozen  girls  you  used  t’ 
know  that  ain’t  married  or  any  too  well  fixed  or  nothin’. 
I said,  ‘no  good,  couldn’t  write,  do  it  yourself.’  So  1 
gave  him  the  names.  He  wrote  t’  ’m.  Every  deuced 
one  accepted.  Armstrong’s  got  such  a way  with  him.” 
“ But  that’s  only  a dozen.  Who’s  the  thirteenth?” 

“ Gracie  Goldendorn,  little  flirt.  She’d  just  refused 
me,  then  wrote  she’d  changed  her  mind.  I got  her  let- 
ter this  mornin’  Tong  with  the  rest.” 

Randolph  was  grinning  wickedly  by  this  time,  but  as 
he  caught  Twiggy’s  glance,  he  grew  sober  and  sym- 
pathetic. 

“ Well,”  he  said  thoughtfully,  “ I suppose  you  want 
to  keep  one  of  these  engagements  for  your  father’s 
sake,  so  to  speak.  I should  think  you  could  break  off 
the  others  gradually,  one  or  two  at  a time,  you  know, 
and  no  particular  harm  done.” 

See  here !”  said  Twiggy  earnestly,  “ I got  t’  call  on 
all  them  girls  ’s  afternoon,  or  write  a note  to  ’em,  or 
somethin’.  T’-morrer  th’  guv’ner  comes  down  on  me. 


Got  t’  introduce  my  wife-t’-be  t’  him  at  Aunt  Martha’s 
’r  he  cuts  my  Towance  off  that  way.” 

Twiggy  snapped  his  fingers  feebly. 

“ Who  are  the  young  ladies?”  asked  Randolph  sud- 
denly. 

Twiggy  went  over  the  list  rapidly.  Randolph  knew 
them  all.  With  the  exception  of  Gracie  Goldendorn  they 
were,  he  opined,  rather  back  numbers,  girls  that  he  and 
Twiggy  had  known  in  childhood,  but  whose  parents  had 
not  been  so  successful  as  Van  Twilliger  and  Randolph, 
pater,  in  the  later  accumulation  of  millions.  Twiggy 
explained  that  these  young  ladies  had  been  chosen  at 
Armstrong’s  suggestion  as  more  likely  to  accept  his 
proposal  than  those  who  sat  in  fortune’s  luxurious  lap. 

‘‘Seems  to  me,”  said  Randolph  slowly,  ‘‘the  thing 
for  you  to  do,  Twiggy,  is  just  this — write  to  Gracie 
Goldendorn,  that  is,  if,  as  I take  for  granted,  you’d  rather 
have  her  than  any  of  the  others,  to  meet  you  at  your 
Aunt  Martha’s  to-morrow  afternoon  for  presentation  to 
your  father.  Then  don't  write  and  don’t  call,  and  don’t 
pay  any  attention  whatever 
to  the  other  girls,  and  if 
any  of  them  come  to  see 
you  about  it  pretend  that 
it’s  the  first  you’ve'  heard 
of  the  whole  business,  and 
that  Armstrong  must  have 


A COOL  REQUEST. 

Mrs.  Subbub — “ Well,  that  is  about  the  coolest  yet ! 

Mr.  Subbub — “ What  was  it  ?” 

Mrs.  Subbub — “ Why,  the  lady  next  door  is  going  to  have  com- 
pany to  tea,  and  she  wants  to  freeze  the  ice-cream,  so  she  just  sent  in 
to  see  if  she  could  borrow  our  cake  of  ice  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 


done  it  for  a joke. 

Threaten  to  have 
him  up  for  forgery, 
you  Know,  and  the 
girl  will  think  it’s 
all  right.” 

Twiggy  sat  up, 
electrified. 

“I  say,  Ran- 
dolph, old  feller,” 
he  exclaimed  grate- 
fully, “you  have 
got  a head  on  you, 
ain’t  you?” 

But  a moment 
later  a shadow  fell 
upon  his  face. 

“ I say,  you 
know’,  Randy,  I 
ain’t  no  good  at 
writin’  nothin’. 

Would  you  mind 
writin’  that  note 
t’  Gracie  for  a fel- 
ler?” 

“Not  at  all,” 
said  Randolph 
heartily,  seizing  a 
pen.  “-You  give 
me  full  permission 
to  sign  your  name, 
of  course?” 

“ Sure,”  said  Twiggy,  and  Randolph  began  to  write. 

Shortly  after  the  note  was  written  and  sent  off 
Twiggy  took  his  departure,  not  neglecting  to  thank  his 
friend  again  for  his  kindness,  and  as  soon  as  he  was 
gone,  Randolph,  with  a wicked  smile  on  his  lips,  set  to 
work  to  write  twelve  more  notes  exactly  lrke  the  first  in 
purport,  but  each  addressed  to  a different  young  lady. 

* Twiggy’s  Aunt  Martha  was  a somewhat  peculiar 
woman,  a talkative  person  and  not  in  the  least  secretive. 
Unfortunately,  both  Twiggy  and  his  father  were  some- 
what delayed  in  keeping  their  appointment  the  next 
afternoon  and  the  thirteen  young  ladies  arrived  before 
them.  Aunt  Martha  knew  them  all,  although  she  had 
not  been  on  calling  terms  with  any  of  them  except  Gracie 
Goldendorn,  and  was  in  consequence  not  a little  puzzled 
that  they  had  come  to  see  her.  Gracie  had  been  first  on 
the  scene,  and  Aunt  Martha,  suspecting  that  she  was  the 
young  lady  upon  whom  Twiggy  had  fixed  his  choice,  asked 
her  point  blank  about  the  matter  and  had  had  her  im- 
pression confirmed.  As  she  met  the  second  young  lady 
at  the  door,  she  whispered  to  her  that  Twiggy  was  at  last 
engaged  and  that  he  expected  to  introduce  the  young 
lady  to  her  future  father-in-law  there  that  very  after- 
noon. The  second  young  lady  blushed  and  said  she 
believed  so.  The  other  eleven,  greeted  in  the  same 
manner,  all  blushed  and  believed  so,  also,  and  were  all 
amazed  to  find  that  other  young  ladies  of  their  acquaint- 
ance had  chanced  to  call  on  Aunt  Martha  on  that  par- 
ticular afternoon. 


Conversation  in 
the  drawing-room 
was  somewhat  con- 
strained and  nerv- 
ous, but  fortunately 
Aunt  Martha  had 
Leen  too  busy  wel- 
coming comers  at 
the  dcor  to  mention 
the  subject  of  Twig- 
gy’s engagement  to 
the  assembly  of  his 
fiancees  when  Mr. 
Van  Twilliger,  sen- 
ior, arrived. 

This  portly  old 
gentleman,  with  his 
red,  bald  head,  red 
chin,  white  hair, 
and  white  side- 
whiskers,  entered 
the  room  smiling 
and  rubbing  h i s 
hands.  The  thirteen 
young  ladies  rose, 
somewhat  blushing- 
ly,  and  advanced 
with  one  accord  to 
meet  him. 

Mr.  Van  Twilli- 
ger extended  both 
his  hands — it  was 
all  he  had — and  six  of  the  young  ladies  seized  his  left 
hand  while  seven  fastened  upon  his  right. 

“ A very  happy,  happy  occasion,”  murmured  the  old 
gentleman,  delighted  beyond  measure.’  “ Childhood 
friends  of  Archibald’s  I perceive,  come  doubtless  to  con- 
gratulate him  upon  his  good  fortune.” 

He  gazed  about  benevolently  and  smiled  into  the 
cluster  of  pretty  faces. 

“ But  which,  if  I may  ask,”  he  continued  blandy,  “ is 
the  one?” 

The  thirteen  young  ladies  blushingly  bowed  their 
heads  and  in  concert  murmured, 

“ I— I am.” 

“ What?”  exclaimed  Mr.  Van  Twilliger,  startingback 
and  releasing  his  hands  from  the  clasp  of  the  fair  ones. 

“ What?”  exclaimed  the  thirteen  young  ladies  again 
in  concert,  also  starting  back  and  looking  with  mingled 
anger  and  surprise  at  one  another. 

Just  then  Twiggy,  escorted  by  his  radiant  Aunt 
Martha,  entered  the  room  and  stood  spellbound  near  the 
threshold. 

His  father  turned  toward  him  wrathfully. 

“ Archibald,  come  here.” 

Twiggy  advanced  weakly  and  stood  beside  his  father 
and  in  front  of  the  thirteen  young  ladies,  who  with  flam- 
ing cheeks,  tossing  chins,  and  accusing  eyes,  now  stood 
in  an  irregular  line. 

“ Now,  sjr,”  resumed  the  irate  parent,  “ will  you  tell 
me,  are  you  engaged  or  not?” 


DIVIDEND  JUST  DUE. 

“ But  wouldn’t  you  like  to  live  your  life  over  again?" 

“ Not  so  as  you  could  notice  it.  I’ve  got  a twenty-year  insurance  policy  coming 
due  next  week.” 


“ Yessir,  ” murmured  Twiggy  meekly. 

“You  are  engaged?” 

“ Yessir.  ” 

“ Then  will  you  please  inform  me,  plainly  and  dis- 
tinctly, to  which  one  of  these  young  ladies  it  is  that  you 
are  betrothed?” 

“All  ’f  ’m,”  murmured  Twiggy  resignedly. 

“ All  of  them!”  shouted  the  old  gentleman,  stamping 
the  floor  in  his  rage,  while  murmurs  of  anger  and  sur- 
prise arose  from  the  lips  of  the  young  ladies.  “ Now 
what  sort  of  a trick  is  this?” 

“ No  trick  ’t  all,  ’t’s  so.” 

Purple  with  strangled  profanity  Van  Twilliger,  pater, 
turned  to  the  indignant  young  ladies.  Gracie  Golden- 
dorn  happened  to  be  at  one  end  of  the  line. 

“ Is  it  true,  Miss  Goldendorn,”  asked  Mr.  Van  Twil- 
liger in  trembling  accents,  “ that  you  are  willing  to 
marry  this  idiotic  scapegrace?” 

“ It  is  not,”  said  Miss  Goldendorn  decidedly. 

“ And  you?”  continued  Mr.  Van  Twilliger,  address- 
ing the  second  young  lady. 

“No.” 

“ And  you?” 

“ No.” 

And  so  he  went  on  down  the  line,  asking  the  same 
question  in  turn  of  the  whole  thirteen,  and  receiving  in 
every  case  the  same  emphatic  negative. 

“ And  now,  sir,”  he  said,  turning  to  his  son  when  he 
had  finished,  “ in  the  face  of  all  these  young  ladies,  do 
you  pretend  to  tell  me  that  you  are  engaged?” 

“ Well,”  said  Twiggy,  slowly  and  rather  resentfully, 
“ I was  engaged,  anyway,  an’  now  ’f  I am — er — er — ■ 
disengaged,  it  ain’t  my  fault.” 

Supposin’. 

SHOULD  America  get  scrappy  with  the  snappy  little 
Jappy; 

Should  America  get  scrappy  with  the  snappy  Jappy  chap, 
We  should  show  the  little  Banzai  an  immense  extrava- 
ganzai — - 

We  should  look  a heap  sight  bigger  to  the  dusky  little 
man’s  eye. 

We  should  give  him,  sure’s  the  dickens,  one  of  the  com- 
pletest  lickin’s 

That  the  world  has  ever  witnessed  since  the  flock  of 
prairie  chickens 

Came  to  feed  old  Jacob’s  offspring  as  they  roamed  the 
wilderness — 

Oh,  that  slant-eyed  little  upstart  would  be  mingled  in  a 
mess ! 

Should  Unk.  Sammy  grow  indignant,  grow  malignant, 
unbenignant; 

Should  Unk.  Sammy  grow  malignant  and  should  suddenly 
renig 

From  the  attitude  so  kindly  he  has  held,  though  never 
blindly, 

Should  he  drop  the  friendly  attituefe  he’s  always  held 
designedly, 

Something  stronger  than  jiu-jitsu  would  lay  hold  on 
Mutsuhitsu, 

Till  you’d  wonder,  scrappy  Jappy,  what  in  thunderation 
hit  you. 

Yea;  should  Uncle  Sam  get  scrappy  with  the  yappy, 
snappy  Jap, 

We  should  give  him  what  our  mother  used  to  give  us 
o’er  her  lap.  strickland  w.  gillilan. 


HOW  FORTUNATE  FOR  EVERYONE! 

She — “ Any  injuries,  my  love?" 

He — “ H’m-m  ! Well,  we  may  need  a new  lamp.” 


His  Ultimatum 


By  Tom  Masson 


AFTER  Crumpet  had  seen  his  wife  off  on  the  train 
he  returned  to  his  quiet  house,  closed  the  door, 
and  gazed  around  at  the  rows  of  inviting  books, 
at  the  table  of  smoking  materials,  at  the  grate  fire  ready 
to  light,  and  his  eyes  glistened  with  joy. 

“ Old  man!”  he  exclaimed  to  himself,  “ what  a time 
you’ll  have!  Wife  away  at  last,  and  now  there  will  be 
time  to  do  all  those  little  things  you’ve  wanted  to  do  for 
so  long — to  read,  to  loaf,  to  think,  and  invite  one’s  soul.  ” 
At  this  moment  the  telephone  rang.  It  was  Crumpet’s 
neighbor,  Alstar. 

“Hello!  Crumpet,  this  you?  Say,  I’ve  just  learned 
your  wife  has  gone  away.  Why  didn’t  you  let  us  know? 
Of  course  you  mustn’t  stay  alone.  Come  right  over  and 
take  dinner  with  us.” 

Crumpet’s  heart  sank,  but  he  was  equal  to  the  emer- 
gency. 

“ Can’t  come  to-night,  old  chap,  thank  you.  I’ve  got 
an  engagement.” 

“ Well,  to-morrow  night.” 

“ Sorry,  but  ” 

“ The  next  night?” 

“ Very  well — I guess  so.  I’ll  let  you  know.” 

“ We  shall  surely  .expect  you.” 

“ Thanks.” 

Crumpet,  heaving  a sigh  of  relief  that  at  least  he  had 
that  evening  to  himself,  once  more  sank  back  in  his  chair. 

But  not  for  long.  Telephone  once  more.  This  time 
it  was  Carter. 

“ This  you,  Crumpet?  Why  didn’t  you  tell  me  your 
wife  was  away?  Well,  never  mind.  You  mustn’t  be 
alone.  Shall  expect  you  to  take  dinner  with  us  every 
night.  Come  right  over What!  not  to-night?  To- 

morrow? No?  Well, 
make  it  Thursday.  All 
right.  Good ! Know 
hcvT  it  is  myself.  ” 

Crumpet  waited  to 
hear  no  more.  He 
picked  up  his  hat  and 
coat,  dashed  out  of  the 
door,  and  made  his  way 
to  the  nearest  stenogra- 
pher’s. 

“Here!”  he  said; 

“ I’ll  give  you  a list  of 
addresses.  Take  this 
letter  and  send  it  to 
every  one  at  once.  I 
may  lose  every  friend 
I have  in  the  world,” 
he  muttered,  “but  I 
can’t  help  it.” 

The  letter  he  dictat- 
ed was  as  follows : 

“To  Friends  and 


UNUSUAL. 

“ And  after  they  were  married  did  they  do  anything  unusual  ?” 
“Yes;  they  stayed  married.’ 


Neighbors — For  the  first  time  in  years  my  good  wife  has 
gone  away  on  a visit  and  left  me  alone.  Contrary  to 
all  expectations,  I am  enjoying  myself.  I’ve  looked  for- 
ward to  being  alone  for  weeks.  I love  to  be  alone.  I 
may  be  peculiar,  I may  be  a crank;  but  if  you  have  any 
regard  for  me  don’t  ask  me  out  to  dinner.  Don’t  sug- 
gest that  at  this  critical  time  I leave  my  home,  for  1 
wouldn’t  do  it  unless  the  house  burned  down. 

“ Respectfully,  sincerely  and  firmly, 

“ A.  Crumpet.” 

The  Football  Hero  Conies. 

HIS  nose  is  strapped  and  wrapped  up  in  a near-soft 
leather  pouch ; 

Each  musty  muscle’s  cricking  as  he  practices  his  '•"'"^h. 
(For  him  the  pudgy  surgeon  is  preparing  a soft  coucn.j 
Some  things  like  pancake-turners  hold  his  near-small 
ears  in  place; 

His  head  is  kept  together  by  a hair-lined,  pot  like  brace. 
(The  stocky  doctor’s  at  his  heels  with  medicine-filled 
case.) 

He  wears  a woolen  envelope,  or  sweater,  without  fleck; 
He  stands  with  hands  prepared  some  one’s  anafomv  to 
wreck 

(Or  gently  land  with  his  soft  corns  on  his  opponent’s 
neck) . 

He’s  dubbed  the  Brawny  Vizier  of  the  Pigskin  and  his 
Viz. 

Has  strips  of  courtly  plaster  on  his  almost-hidden  phiz — 
All  these  things  prove  the  ’rah-’rah  hero’s  now  on  deck 

for  biz.  p r A J.TZER. 

Appropriately  Named. 

'T'HE  BOY  in  the  paint-store  dashed  hurriedly  nn  the 
* cellar  steps  and  sought  the  proprietor. 

“ There’s  a barrel  leaking  in  the  basement!”  he  cried, 
“ and  the  automobile  stuff  is  just  pouring  out.” 

“ Why  do  you  call  it 
automot"  stuff?” 
";,i^sked  the  piDpr’ “"or. 
“Because,”  gasped 
the  young3*tc.  “ : t ’ s 
running  over  c . . 

in  sight.” 

The  Difference. 

'S'HE  difference  is  th  * 
* the  pess  1 Zr 
fault  with  . 'hing 
else  and  the  optimist 
finds  fault  with  the  pes- 
simist. 

Prudential. 

MlVfRS'  ” "S0R 

is  a prudent 
woman,  isn’t  she?’” 

“ Very.  She  always 
lives  within  her  ali- 
mony.” 


A Very  Still  Day  in  Pinhook 

4 


DERE  JUDGE — You  ort  to  ov  ben  hear  last  week, 
on  Friday,  an  ef  you  hed,  you  would  surtingly  hev 
hed  to  laff  fit  to  kill  ovver  the  feerful  still  day 
we  hed  hear  on  last  Friday.  It  beet  awl  the  records 
clene  out  an’  evven  old  Grandaddy  Perrick,  as  come  hear 
an’  settled  seventy-nine  yeer  ago,  never  seen  nothin’  like 
it  ner  neer  like  it.  The  wind  was  a-blowin’  big  guns 
at  nine  o’clock  in  the  forenoon,  jest  a humpin’  it  good 
' an’  plenty  from  the  southwest  an’  then,  without  no 
warnin,’  an’  awl  ov  a suddint,  quickeren  a wink,  she 
stopped  dead  still,  deadern  Julius  Seezer. 

Mayor  Willson  was  a cornin’  up  the  streat,  facin’ 
the  wind,  a bendin’  way  ovver  forruds  to  keep  from  bein’ 
blowed  backards,  an’  hed  jest  met  up  with  Jack  Hanson 
a cornin'  t’other  way,  a-bendin’  backards  es  fur  es  he 
could  to  keep  from  bein’  blowed  forruds,  an’  the  wind 
stopped  so  mighty  quick  that  both  ov  ’em  fell  flat  to  the 
sidewalk,  one  backards  an’  one  furruds,  an’  Hanson  he 
purty  neer  busted  in  the  back  of  his  hed. 

From  then  on  forruds  awl  that  thare  day  clene  through 
till  mornin’  ov  the  next  day  thare  wa’n’t  the  leest  sign 
ov  no  wind  a tall;  not  a smidgin,  ner  a whiff.  Nobody 
newer  seen  nothin'  so  still  no  time  ner  nowhare.  Bill 
Peters  shot  a cat  fer  chicken-eetin  abowt  ten  o’clock  an’ 
the  smoke  frum  the  gun  stade  right  thare  in  the  same 


Is  it  really  you  ? Murphy  told  me  you  were  dead.” 
Oi  was  all  roight  whin  Oi  saw  him  lasht.”  * 


plase  whare  the  gun  went  off  the  hull  day  long  an’  wuz 
thare  at  midnight  fer,  although  you  couldn’t  see  it  then, 
sum  ov  us  went  out  an’  smelt  it  jest  to  see  ef  it  was  still 
thare,  an’  it  wuz  thare. 

I stuck  a lath  up  in  the  ground  at  Tevven  o’clock  in 
the  fournoon  an’  then  put  a little  peece  ov  thistle  down 
right  ovver  the  top  ov  it,  in  the  air,  six  inches  above 
the  top  end  ov  the  lath,  an’  by  the  long-horned  spoon  it 
newer  moved  a mite  one  way  ner  a nuther  ner  up 
ner  down  an’  wuz  rite  thare  at  sevven  o’clock  in  the 
evenin’. 

Hirum  Wilkins  set  a j’int  ov  stovepipe  strate  up  on 
legs  so’s  he  could  lay  down  on  his  back  an’  stick  his  hed 
under  it  an’  look  up  through  it  an’  then  he  let  a little 
balloon  rase  up  through  the  stovepipe  an’  go  off  up  into 
the  air  an’  it  kep’  a rasin’  slowly,  but  so  dern  strate  up 
that  a feller  could  see  it  an  hour  arterwurds,  er  more, 
till  it  got  clene  up  outen  ov  sight,  by  layin’  on  his  back 
an’  lookin’  up  through  the  stovepipe. 

The  rodes  wuz  so  full  ov  dust  fer  abowt  twelve  feet 
high  that  you  couldn’t  see  acrost  ’em  without  gittin’  up 
in  a tree,  an’  the  clerk  to  the  hotel  he  went  out  on  the 
porch  an’  ballanced  twelve  wheet  straws  strate.  up  on 
end  an’  let  ’em  stay  thare  all  the  arternoon  long,  an’ 
some  boys  klimed  up  onto  the  roof  ov  the  mill  an’  stuck 
a shingle  with  a not  hole  into  it  outen  ovver  the  edge  of 
the  roof  and  then  dropped  musterd  seed  through  it  an’ 
down  into  a teacup  sixty  feet  below  an’  newer  a seed 
missed  the  cup.  Thay  wa’n’t  a sign  ov  wind  to  blow 
the  breth  away  arter  it  wuz.  breathed  out,  an’  ef  you 
didn’t  move  you’d  suck  it  in  ag’in  an’  blow  it  out  ov- 
ver an’  ovver  till  you  wuz  jest  abowt  smuddered.  My 
unckle  on  my  father’s  side,  James  George,  he  lives  with 
me  an’  k?  hez  a big  nufunlan’  dog,  weighs  abowt  167 
pound,  an’  that  thare  dog  wuz  too  lazy  to  move  an’  he 
mighty  neer  dide  with  smudderin’.  He  would  git  abowt 
awl  gone  an’  then  my  unckle  would  ketch  him  by  the  tale 
an’  draw  him  a little  furder  along  on  the  porch  whare 
the  air  wuzzent  used  up  an’  then  leave  him  lay  till  he 
got  gaspin’  hard  ag’in  an’  then  drag  him  furder,  er  drag 
him  back,  an’  he  kep’  that  up  awl  day  an’  awl  night  an’ 
purty  neer  tired  hisself  clene  out  an’  purty  neer  wored 
awl  the  hare  offen  the  bottom  ov  the  dog  a-draggin’  him. 

You  surtingly  ot  tu  hev  ben  hear. 

Le  Sueur  Lyre. 

Ancient  Politics. 

JOSEPH  had  just  been  cast  into  the  pit. 

“ I can’t  understand  why  I am  a favorite  son,”  he 
reflected.  “ Father  hasn’t  declined  a third  term.” 

Truly  politics  were  deep  even  in  those  days. 

Quick  Work. 

Hewitt — “ This  is  an  age  of  hustle.” 

Jewett — “ You  bet ! I met  a fellow  yesterday  who  had 
already  made  a contract  to  write  a series  of  magazine 
articles,  giving  the  history  of  the  Japanese-American 

war.” 


V 


On  the  Turf. 

SOME  friends  of  mine  went  to  the  track— 
And  so  did  I. 

They  said  they’d  hit  the  books  a whack — 

» And  so  did  I. 

They  talked  of  “ ponies  ” and  the  “ dope  ” — 
And  so  did  I. 

They  had  their  bosoms  full  of  hope — • 

And  so  did  I. 

They  had  the  tips  on  how  to  bet — - 
And  so  did  I. 

They  knew  just  where  to  spread  their  net — 
And  so  did  I. 

They  said  they’d  show  the  bookies  what — 
And  so  did  I. 

They  fired  their  cash  in  fast  and  hot — - 
And  so  did  I. 

They  said  they’d  make  a killing  hit — ■ 

And  so  did  I. 

They  piled  it  on  the  favorite — 

And  so  did  I. 

They  smiled  to  hear  the  talent  talk — - 
And  so  did  I. 

The  fav’rite  came  home  in  a walk — 

And  so  did  I. 

At  least,  he  must  have  walked,  because 
everything  that  ran  in  the  race  got  to  the 
wire  before  he  did.  w.  j.  lampton. 


SHE  KNEW  IT. 

“ Well,  my  dear,  I had  my  life  insured  to-day.” 

“ That’s  just  like  you — always  thinking  of  yourself  1" 


A Practical  Heiress. 


«T\ARLING,”  he  asked  as  he  drew  his  fiancee  closer 
to  him,  “ am  I the  only  man  you  ever  kissed?” 
“Charles,”  she  replied  somewhat  testily,  “ I would 
like  to  ask  you  a few  questions  before  we  go  any  further. 
You  are  no  doubt  aware  of  the  fact  that  papa  is  worth 
several  million  dollars,  aren’t  you?” 

“ Y-yes.” 

“ You  understand,  no  doubt,  that  when  he  dies  all  of 
that  vast  fortune  will  be  left  to  me?” 


You  know  that  I have  $500,000  in  cash  in  the  banks?” 
Y-yes.” 

‘ And  own  half  a million  dollars’  worth  of  property?” 
Y-yes.” 

And  many  shares  of  stocks  and  bonds?” 

Y-yes.  ” 

And  that  my  diamonds  are  valued  at  $100,000?” 
Y-yes.” 


LEGAL  ADVICE  VS.  MEDICAL. 

First  magnate — “ My  doctor  advised  me  to  take  a trip  abroad  for  my  health,  but 
1 m not  going.” 

Second  magnate — “ My  lawyer  gave  me  the  same  advice,  and  1 am  going." 


“ And  my  horses  and  automobiles  at 
$75,000?” 

“ Y-yes.” 

“ And  my  yachts  at  $50,000?” 

“Y-yes.” 

“ And  my  dogs  at  $25,000?” 

“ Y-yes.” 

“Then,  for  goodness  sake!  why  don’t 
you  talk  sense?  What  difference  would  it 
make  to  you  if  I had  kissed  a thousand  men 
before  I met  you?” 

He  hemmed  and  hawed  and  stammered 
and  blushed,  and  tried  to  think  of  a suitable 
reply,  but  finally  had  to  give  it  up;  and  when 
the  great  heiress  began  to  talk  of  something 
else  he  heaved  a deep  sigh  of  relief,  and 
swore  to  himself  that  he  would  be  more  care- 
ful in  the  future. 

Would  Cost  More. 

Mistress — “More  than  anything  else,  I 
want  a servant  who  has  some  refinement.” 

Applicant — “ Yis,  mum;  but  Oi’ll  be 
afther  chargin’  yez  more  if  Oi  hov  to  in- 
shtruct  yez  in  th’  ways  av  sassiety.” 


Do  You  Want  That  Raise? 

OUR  (GRAFT  CORRESPONDENCE  SCHOOL  WILL  GET  IT 
FOR  YOU. 


*¥*HE  WORLD  of  graft  is  always  looking  for  bad  men. 
* Are  YOU  in  on  it?  By  studying  daytimes  YOU 
can  raise  your  position  from  that  of  a porch-climber,  or 


second-story  man,  or  pick- 
pocket, to  a high  position 
in  society.  The  swell  hotels 
and  penitentiaries  await 
YOU.  We  will  prove  our 
ability  by  cheating  you. 
We  can  point  to  hundreds 
of  cashiers  in  Canada  who 
tried  our  methods.  One 
student  climbed  from  the 
position  of  street-car  con- 
ductor, in  which  he  knocked 
down  fares,  to  that  of  the 
manager  of  the  worst  street 
railway  system  in  the 
country  through  our  aid. 
DO  IT  NOW. 


J If  you  want  to  rise  to  a position  where  you  can  steal 
a thousand  a week,  clip  off  the  coupon  below  and  send  it 
to  us,  with  your  choice  marked.  We  will  send  you  abso- 
lutely free  full  information  about  qualifying  for  any 
position.  We  furnish  all  text-books,  and  cheat  our  stu- 
dents by  the  installment  plan,  or  any  other  they  desire. 
Any  honest  and  industrious  thief  can  become  an  em- 
bezzler with  a little  study. 


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Railroad  President 

Insurance  Official 

Defaulting  Cashier 

U.  S.  Senator 

Police  Inspector 

Patent  Medicine  Manufacturer 

Spring  Poet 

Divorce  Lawyer 

Timber  Lands  Thief 


Second-hand  English. 

Swede  (to  Englishman,  at  Colorado  Springs,  noting 
that  the  Englishman’s  accent  was  unlike  that  of  the 
other  inhabitants) — “ How  long  you  bane  in  dese 
country?” 

Englishman — Nine  months.” 

Swede — “ You  bane  spake  de  language  putty  goot  al- 
ready. Ven  you  bane  in  dese  country  two  years  you  vill 
spake  as  veil  as  de  people  here.” 

Englishman  (annihilatingly) — ‘‘Man  alive!  I am 
from  the  country  where  this  language  is  manufactured. 
What  you  are  learning  to  speak  is  second-hand  English.” 


Fond  mother  (after  Tommy’s  return  from  first  day  at 
school) — ‘‘Now,  Tommy,  tell  mother  what  pleased  you 
most  at  school  to-day.” 

“ De  teacher  broke  her  glasses,  an’  we  didn’t  have 
enny  lessons,”  joyfully  responded  Tommy. 


Anything  Better  Than  Home. 

<<  ¥ AM  sick  to  death  of  everything,”  said  the  society 
woman.  “ Let’s  spend  this  evening  where  we’ve 
never  spent  one  before.” 

“ Agreed !”  said  her  husband.  ‘‘Shall  w’e  try  home 
or  church?” 

“ Church,”  she  replied,  sighing. 

If  He  Could  Do  It  Again. 

<<  |")R.  THUDLEIGH  preached  his  wife’s  first  hus- 
band’s  funeral  sermon,  didn’t  he?” 

“ Yes.  And  I’ll  bet  if  he  could  do  it  again  he’d  em- 
phasize the  opinion  he  expressed  about  the  poor  man  hav- 
ing gone  to  a more  delightful  place  than  this  world  is.” 

The  Quicker  Way. 

ALL  things  come  to  him  who  waits. 

Perhaps  that’s  true.  Well,  let  ’em. 

With  me,  the  only  things  I got 
I had  to  go  and  get  ’em. 

Loraine — “ Is  it  true  that  you  are  engaged  to  Fred?” 
Clarice — “ No;  I have  not  given  him  a definite  answer 
yet.  I want  to  wait  and  see  how  he  looks  after  the  foot- 
ball season  is  over.” 


THAT  GOTHAM  BLUFF. 


“ Haven  t seen  you  for  a long  time.  Where  are  you  living  now  ?" 
“ I've  got  a house  across  the  river,  on  the  bluff,  but  I don't  like  it. 
It’s  too  lonesome  over  there.” 

“ Well,  better  move  over  here  to  New  York — you’ll  have  lots  of 
company.  'Bout  three-quarters  of  the  people  here  live  on  a bluff." 


ALARMING  SYMPTOMS. 

¥ ITTLE  Johnny  was  very 
much  interested  in  the  ac- 
count of  the  operation  by  which 
Eve  was  made,  and,  childlike, 
required  the  story  told  over  and 
over  again. 

One  day,  after  a strenuous 
game  of  tag,  he  sat  down  on  the 
doorstep,  panting  for  breath. 
Soon  a serious  expression  came 
over  his  face,  and  clapping  his 
hand  to  his  side,  he  ran  to  his 
mother  as  fast  as  his  exhausted 
condition  permitted. 

“Mamma,  mamma!”  he 
gasped;  “I’ve  such  a pain  in 
my  side!  I’m  ’fraid  I’m  going 
to  have  a wife !” 

A.  A.  Skeels,  Cleveland,  0. 


ACCENTUATING  A CONTRAST. 

First  young  man — “ That  girl  is  too  tall  to  wear  a short  dress.” 

Second  young  man — “ It  would  be  all  right  if  her  companion  dressed  the  same  way.' 


4N  APT  RETORT. 

Traveler — “ Say,  boy,  your 
corn  looks  kind  of  yellow.” 

Boy — “ Yes,  sir.  That’s  the  kind  we  planted.” 
Traveler — “ Looks  as  though  you  will  only  have  a 
half  crop.” 

Boy — “ Don’t  expect  any  more.  The  landlord  gets 
the  other  half.” 

Traveler  (after  a minute’s  thought) — “ Say,  there  is 
not  much  difference  between  you  and  a fool.” 

Boy — “ No,  sir.  Only  the  fence.” 

A.  G.  B.  McKay,  Silver  Grove,  Saskatchewan,  Can. 

NO  PLACE  FOR  THAT. 

FLOORWALKER  in  a department  store  saw  a man 
A ® walking  to  him,  who  said,  “ My  wife  bought  these 
underclothes  here  yesterday.  Where  can  I change 
them?” 

The  floorwalker  just  said,  “You  will  have  to  go  home 
to  do  that,  sir.  ” 

John  Farmer,  East  Stanbridge,  Quebec,  Can. 

WHAT  THEY  VOTED  FOR. 

<C  ¥AJHAH  yuh  been?”  inquired  ’Rastus  Peebles  of 
Uncle  Zeb  Johnsing,  as  the  latter  came  canter- 
ing down  the  main  street  on  his  favorite  charger. 


“Up  to  Slabtown,  to  de  ’lection, ” was  the  answer 
shouted  back. 

“ De  ’lection?  W’at  dey  votin’  fer  now?”  asked 
’Rastus. 

“ Dey  was  payin’  high  as  two  dollahs  dis  mawnin’,” 
called  out  Uncle  Zeb ; “ but  when  Ah  left  dey  was  payin’ 
only  a dcllah  an’  six  bits.” 

George  S.  Bennett,  Berkeley,  Cal. 

HE  FOUND  SOMETHING. 

A PRETTY  school  teacher,  noticing  one  of  her  little 
* * charges  idle,  said  sharply, 

“ John,  the  devil  always  finds  something  for  idle 
hands  to  do.  Come  up  here  and  let  me  give  you  some 
work.  ” 

M.  B.  Black,  Avon,  Pa. 

GOOD  ONES. 

<<  ^^HERE  are  five  reasons  why  I can’t  get  married.” 
^ “ What  are  they?” 

“ A wife  and  four  children.” 

F.  L.  Kristeller,  San  Antonio,  Tex. 

Not  So  Resourceful  as  Most  Girls. 

Evelyn — “ Some  of  our  proverbs  are  so  ridiculous. 

For  instance,  ‘ Where  ignorance  is  bliss  ’ ” 

Ethel — -“What’s  the  matter  now?” 

Evelyn — “ Why,  you  know,  Fred  gave  me  my  engage- 
ment-ring last  week,  and  I simply  can’t  find  out  how 
much  it  cost  him.” 

The  Noose. 

Teacher  (expectantly) — “ Now,  children,  how  many 
of  you  can  tell  me  what  a lasso  is?” 

Willie  (hurriedly  raising  his  hand) — “ Please,  ma’am, 
it’s  a long  rope  with  a running  nose  at  the  end.” 

HE  HAD  his  wine  and  women  friends — 

But  there  this  man’s  life-story  ends. 


A ROUND  ROBIN. 


THE  THRILLING  STORY  OF  A “PEN-AND-INK”  DRAWING. 


It  Was  Hot  Corn 


By  Ed  Mott 


A FAT  colored  lady,  with  a tin  wash-boiler  standing 
in  front  of  her  on  the  sidewalk  at  a Sixth  Avenue 
corner,  had  been  howling  to  the  heat-embarrassed  night 
and  the  public  generally  that  she  was  there  in  the  inter- 
est of  hot  corn  and  a market.  A tall  man,  wearing  a 
white  high  hat  with  a black  band  on  it,  stopped  in  his 
sauntering  up  the  avenue  and  remarked  to  the  fat  colored 
lady, 

“ Have  you  corn?” 

“ I shore  has,  suh,”  replied  the  dealer  in  superheated 
naize. 

“ Is  it  hot?”  inquired  the  tall  man  in  the  breezy  hat 
with  the  sorrowful  band. 

“ Hot  as  b’ilin’  soapsuds,  suh!”  said  the  custodian  of 
the  wash-boiler  and  its  contents. 

‘‘Do  you  happen  to  know,”  said  the  apparent  cus- 
tomer, “ whether  it  is  the  early  sweet  of  old  Virginny?” 

“ Hones’  to  de  Lawd,  boss,  I cain’t  give  mah  wuhd 
fo’  dat,  suh,  ” replied  the  hot-corn  matron ; “ but  it  b’iles 
de  ch’ices’  kyine,  an’  gits  pow’ful  hot,  suh.” 

“Ah,  yes,”  said  the  tall  man.  “But  common, 
or’dnary  North  Car-liny  corn  will  do  that.  Have  you 
evidence  that  the  epicurean  raccoon  has  tested  the  qual- 
ity and  condition  of  the  corn  in  the  field  where  this  was 
grown?  Your  raccoon  knows  what  corn  is  best  for  man 
to  eat.  Has  the  ’coon  been  working  in  the  field  o’  nights 
whence  these  ears  you  offer  were  plucked?” 

“ Yo’  shore  done  gone  a heap  deepuh,  boss,  dan  I kin 
go  in  de  dishin’  up  ob  dis  hyuh  co’n,  suh,”  said  the  fat 


HE  TOOK  IT  AT  ITS  WORD. 

Uncle  Philander  (after  a two-hour  wait) — “ 1 
wonder  when  this  blamed  thing ’s  a-goin’  to  start  ? 


FROM  THE  CHICKEN’S  STANDPOINT. 

“ Say,  Duckie,  I do  pity  the  coming  generation.” 

“ Why,  Chick  ?” 

“ Because  that  incubator  can't  scratch  for  worms 
like  mother  used  to  do.” 

/ 

colored  lady.  “ But  I knows  dis  hyuh  co’n  am  pow’ful 
hot.” 

“ Yes;  I quite  agree  with  you,”  said  the  critical  per- 
son in  the  conspicuous  hat,  taking  off  the  tile,  wiping  his 
forehead  with  his  coat  sleeve,  and  stepping  closer  to  the 
boiler.  “ But  I have  a way  of  knowing  whether  it  would 
be  likely  that  the  epicurean  raccoon  has  approved  of  the 
field  in  which  this  corn  was  grown.  I will  let  you  in  on 
the  secret  if  you  just  pass  me  over  a couple  of  those  ears 
for  testing.  I think  two  ears  will  be  enough.” 

“ Dem  eahs,  dey’s  a nickel  apiece,  suh,”  explained 
the  colored  lady.  “ Two  eahs  fo’  a dime,  suh.” 

“ Yes,  I know,”  said  the  tall  man.  “ But,  don’t  you 
see,  if  I find  that  the  corn  is  the  sweet,  juicy,  milky 
corn  of  old  Virginny,  which  is  the  only  kind  the  fastidi- 
ous ’coon  approves  of,  I will  at  once  be  warranted  in 
bringing  my  friends  around  to  enjoy  it,  and  you  will  be 
compelled  to  have  four  boilers  full  here  after  this  to  sup- 
ply the  demand.  Unless  I know  this  by  actual  test,  of 
course  ” 

“ Yo’  shore  is  monst’us  kyine,  suh,”  said  the  fat  hot- 
corn  saleslady,  putting  the  cover  back  on  the  boiler; 
“ but  I reckon  I doan’  ’low  no  thievin’,  ring-tail  ’coon 
ter  tell  me  how  ter  b’ile  co’n!  Huh!  I reckon  I doan’, 
suh ! Hot  co’-o-o-n  ! Hot  co’-o-o-n  !” 

And  the  man  in  the  white  hat  sauntered  pensively 
on  his  way. 

Cutting  Down  the  Thefts. 

it  /^LD  Abrams  took  his  son  into  der  bus’ness  as  a 
partner  so  der  poy  couldn’t  steal  so  much  ohf 
der  old  man’s  money.” 

“ Vy  can’t  he  steal  so  much?” 

“ Now,  vhen  he  steals  a tollar,  he  steals  half  ohf  it 
from  himself.” 


j^O  ONE  is  going  to  get  into  heaven  on  his  pastor’s 
recommendation. 


SOME  EXCLUSIVE  BRAND. 

Just  think  of  it!  we  are  made  of  dust.” 

How  hideous ! But  I know  it  wasn’t  this  common  kind.' 


Love  and  a Coronet. 

News  note.— The  Due  de  Blanc  is  the  guest  of  an  American  million- 
aire and  his  daughter.  How  long  he  will  remain  here  depends.  There 
seems  to  be  some  hitch  in  the  transfer  of  title. 

LOVE,  Love,  dear  Love, 

That  cries  to  him  to  take 
The  new  love  to  his  heart 
And  all  the  old  forsake; 

Love,  Love,  dear  Love, 

Demanding  that  he  let 
This  yearning,  hopeful  heart 
Put  on  his  coronet; 

Love,  Love,  dear  Love, 

That  brings  two  souls  to  bless 
Each  other  through  a life 
Of  sweet  unselfishness; 

Love,  Love,  dear  Love, 

That  makes  two  hearts  to  beat 
The  measures  of  two  minds 
In  unison  complete; 

Love,  Love,  dear  Love, 

Which  heeds  not  any  price 
That  it  may  have  to  pay 
For  noble  sacrifice. 

Gee  whiz ! 

What  a wonder  Love  is, 

Ain’t  it? 

Painters  can’t  paint  it, 

And  the  poets  who  think 
They  can  write  up  its  beauty 
Find  their  pens  on  the  blink. 

It’s  the  greatest  thing  in  the  world, 

Gadzukes ! 

No  less  to  the  clodhoppers 
Than  it  is-  to  the  dukes. 

Wow ! 

Wreathe  lilies  round  its  brow, 

And  at  its  feet 
Let  the  roses  meet. 

Truth  of  truths  and  flower  of  flowers, 

Love’s  the  power  of  all  the  powers. 

Oh,  say,  nothing  in  the  wide  world  could, 

By  any  chance,  be  just  as  good. 

Gold  is  dross  to  dukes,  and  they 
Dodge  it  when  it  comes  their  way. 

Similarly  coronets 
Are  what  womankind  forgets. 

Gold  is  dross,  position  nought; 

Love  is  only  to  be  sought— 

For  if  Love  is  not,  ah,  then, 

Men  are  brutes  instead  of  men. 

Love,  dear  Love, 

On  history’s  page 
No  age  compares  with  marri-age. 

My  scat!  What’s  that? 

W.  J.  LAMPTON. 

Proper  Coats. 

^*OR  an  undertaker — Box  coat. 

A For  a judge — Fine  coat. 

For  a housemaid — Duster. 

For  an  old  maid — Mail  coat. 

For  a housekeeper — Newmarket. 

For  a sight-seer — Rubber  coat. 

For  a college  girl— Pony  coat. 

For  a glutton — Eton  coat. 

A Saving  Grace. 

Florence — “ I can’t  understand  why  Ethel 
married  Mr.  Gunson.  He  is  old  enough  to  be 
her  father.” 

Lawrence — “ Yes;  but  he  is  rich  enough 
to  be  her  husband.” 


A Bright  Suggestion. 

'TpHE  LAMENTABLE  lack  of  uniformity  in  the  use  of 
* words  descriptive  of  numbers,  in  the  yellow  press, 
justifies  a little  attention,  perhaps.  At  a street  fight,  a 
hotel  fire,  or  a political  meeting,  there  is  seldom  time  to 
ascertain  the  exact  number  of  persons  present,  to  be 
sure,  but  the  following  scale  might  be  used  in  approxi- 
mation : 

Over  3,  but  less  than  10. ...  .a  crowd. 


Over  10,  but  less  than  20. 
Over  20,  but  less  than  50 . 
Over  50,  but  less  than  100. 
Over  100 


. .scores. 

. . a myriad. 

. . thousands. 

. . a vast  concourse. 


This  list  would  undergo  a radical  change,  however,  in 
case  the  newspaper  was  reporting  a political  meeting  of 
its  opponents.  It  might  then  be  abridged : 

100  or  more empty  house. 

300  or  more a few  stragglers. 

500  or  more a lonely  gathering. 

1.000  or  more a small  audience. 

3.000  or  more only  the  front  seats  filled. 

FREEMAN  TILDEN. 

Not  His  Kind. 

Mr.  Nodd — “ I don’t  think  much  of  that  toy-bank 
you  got  the  children.” 

Mrs.  Nodd — “ What’s  the  matter  with  it  ?” 

Mr.  Nodd Why,  I worked  over  it  all  the  evening 
and  couldn’t  open  it.” 


AND  THE  PUP  STOPPED  PANTING. 

“ Nannette,  1 am  ready  to  take  Rover  out,  and  you  haven  t pressed  his  pants  ! 


So  speed  they  may  on  their  primrose  way 
To  Arcadian  lands  afar. 

May  they  travel  fast  till  they  step  at  last 
In  their  wedding  touring-car. 

And  grant  them  this,  oh,  lad  who  feels 
A love- that  is  strong  for  her, 

May  the  ride  extend  to  the  journey’s  end, 

With  Cupid  as  chauffeur. 

REYNALE  SMITH  PICKERING. 


With  Cupid  as  Chauffeur^ 

HE  ROAD  lies  white  beneath 
the  light 

Of  a rising  honeymoon, 

And  the  rushing  sound  as  the 
wheels  spin  ’round 
Swings  into  an  old  love-tune. 
And  every  rut  on  the  road  of  life 
Is  seen  through  a rosy  blur ; 
But  there’s  never  a fear  that 
the  way’s  not  clear 
With  Cupid  as  chauffeur. 

And  little  they  care  if  the 
neighbors  stare 
As  they  speed  through  the 
land  of  dreams. 

While  the  old  love-light  as  a 
signal  bright 

Ahead  on  the  highway 
gleams. 

And  there’s  never  a hill  of  care 
so  steep 

But  succumbs  to  the  gentle  stir 
That  is  bound  to  start  in  a lover’s  heart 
With  Cupid  as  chauffeur. 


Well,  anyway,  there  is  always  room  at  the  bottom. 


At  the  Minstrel  Show. 

Mr.  Bones — “ Muh-muh-muh-mistah  Interlocutor;  ' 

Interlocutor — “ You  have  the  floor,  Mr.  Bones.” 

Mr.  Bones — “ I’s  dun  guh-guh-guh-guh-got  a new  one 
for  you  tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh-to-night,  suh.  It’s  about  a muh- 
muh-muh-man  who  st-st-st-st-st-stuttahs.” 

Interlocutor — “ You  ought  to  tell  a story  of  that  kind 
to  perfection,  Mr.  Bones,  seeing  you  stutter  so  badly 
yourself.” 

Mr.  Bones  (indignantly) — “ I duh-duh-duh-don’t  stut- 
tah,  suh!” 

Interlocutor — “ You  don’t?” 

Mr.  Bones — “ N-n-n-n-no,  suh.  I only  st-st-st-st- 
stammah.” 

Interlocutor — “ Oh,  you  only  stammer,  eh?  Will  you 
kindly  tell  us  the  difference  between  stuttering  and  stam- 
mering?” 

Mr.  Bones— “ Why,  when  you  st-st-st-st-st-st-st-stut- 
tah  you  tuh-tuh-tuh-talk  like  this ; but  when  you  st-st- 
st-st-st-st-st-stammah  you  only  tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh-talk 
like  that.” 

Interlocutor — “Oh,  that’s  it,  eh?  Well,  you  may  go 
on  with  your  story  about  the  man  who  stutters;  but  be 
careful  you  don’t  get  into  the  habit  yourself.” 

Mr.  Bones — “ Well,  suh,  h-h-he  went  into  a ruh-ruh- 
ruh-ruh-restaurant  and  looked  over  the  buh-buh-buh-buh- 
bill-of-fare  and  saw  st-st-st-st-st-st-st-strawberry  short- 
cake on  it.” 

Interlocutor — “ Yes,  Mr.  Bones.  A man  who  stut- 
tered went  into  a restaurant  and  looked  over  the  bill-of- 
fare  and  saw  strawberry  shortcake  on  it.  Well,  did  he 

get  some?” 

Mr.  Bones — “ N-n-n-n- 
no,  suh.  Buh-buh-buh- 
buh-by  the  time  the  puh- 
puh-puh-puh-poor  fellow 
guh-guh-guh-g  u h - g a v e 
his  ordah  st-st-st-st-st-st- 
st-st-strawberries  were 
out  of  suh-suh-suh-sea- 
son.” 

Interlocutor  — “ Very 
good,  Mr.  Bones — very 
good,  sir.  And  now,  Mr. 
Leader,  if  you’ll  give  us 
some  more  of  your  good 
music  Mr,  Johnson  will 
sing  us  that  pathetic  lit- 
tle ballad  entitled,  ‘ What 
is  home  without  a ra- 
zor : a.  b.  lewis. 


PRETTY  SOLEMN. 

“ Thanksgiving  Day,  as  it  is  now  observed,  is  not  the  solemn  occasion  it  used  to  be.” 

“ It  isn’t,  eh  ? I wish  you  had  dined  with  us  yesterday.  We  had  the  minister,  two  maiden  aunts,  and  a 
„ country  cousin  to  dinner.” 


A Deep  Cutter. 

Rollins — -“I  went  out 
in  a revenue-cutter  last 
night.” 

Collins  — “ I thought 
you  went  sleigh-riding?” 

Rollins — “Well,  it 
made  quite  a cut  in  my 
revenue.” 


Too  Partisan  To  Holler. 


/"'OLONEL  W.  P.  THORNE,  former  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor  of  Kentucky,  is  one  of  the  best  campaigners 
and  story-tellers  to  be  found  in  Kentucky.  One  of  the 
best  stories  he  told  runs  as  follows: 

“ It  was  just  after  W.  0.  Bradley  was  elected  Gov- 
ernor of  Kentucky,  in  1905,  and  the  Republicans  in  my 
county  were  holding  a big  ratification  meeting.  Brass 
bands,  all  kinds  of  floats  and  banners,  and  hundreds  of 
men  and  women  and  boys  had  been  parading  the  streets. 
A young  girl  claimed  that,  while  standing  on  her  front 
porch,  which  was  almost  covered  by  vines  and  foliage  of 
different  kinds,  she  was  repeatedly  hugged  and  kissed  by 
a young  man  whom  she  hardly  knew.  A warrant  was 
sworn  out  for  her 
assailant.  He  was 
arrested,  and  it  was 
my  duty  as  common- 
wealth’s attorney  to 
prosecute  him.  John 
Carroll,  who  is  at 
present  a judge  of 
the  Kentucky  Court 
of  A p p e al  s , had 
been  employed  to 
defend  him.  I soon 
finished  my  examina- 
tion of  the  witness, 
and  turned  her  over 
to  Carroll  for  cross- 
examination. 

“ ‘ What  night 
was  this?’  thundered 
Carroll. 

“‘Thursday 
night,’  answered  the 
witness. 

“‘Thursday 
night,  you  say? 

What  time  of 
night?’ 

“ ‘ About  eight 
o’clock.’ 

“ ‘ That  was  about 
the  time  the  pa- 
rade was  passing  our 
house.  ’ 

“‘Yes,  sir;  the 
parade  was  just  pass- 
ing my  house.’ 

“ ‘ Streets  full  of 
people?’ 

“ ‘ Yes,  sir ; the 
streets  were  full  of 
people.’ 

“ ‘ Did  you  ever 
cry  out  or  scream?’ 

“ ‘ No,  sir;  I did 
not.’ 

“ ‘ Will  you  please 
tell  this  jury.’  asked 


Carroll  with  rising  voice,  ‘ with  the  streets  thronged 
with  people  and  this  man  hugging  and  kissing  you 
against  your  will,  as  you  claim,  why  you  never  uttered  a 
single  cry  for  help  or  assistance?’ 

“ ‘ Yes,  sir.  I will  tell  the  jury,  and  everybody  else, 
that  you’ll  never  ketch  me  hollerin’  at  no  Republican 
getherin’ !’  ” 

A Way  They  Have. 

THE  pretzels  I consume  induce  such  woes, 

The  crullers  havoc  play. 

They  have  no  bad  intentions,  I suppose, 

But  they’re  just  bent  that  way. 

The  man  who  does  all  for  gain  does  nothing  for  good. 


A HARD  JOB. 


She — “ I wish  you  would  work  and  earn  the  money  for  the  flowers  you  send  me.’ . ^ 

He — “If  you  knew  how  hard  it  is  to  work  the  governor  you  would  think  1 earned  em. 


More  Nature  Fakes. 

« /^H,  SIRE ! I heard  a rooster  crow — 

’Twas  ‘ Cock-a-doodle  do.’ ” 

“ I’m  very  sure  that  was  a lie— 

The  story  can’t  be  true.” 

‘ Oh,  sire ! I heard  a pussy-cat — 

The  creature  said  ‘ Meow.’  ” 

‘ You  do  not  know  the  heart  of  things — - 
I know  that  isn’t  how.” 

‘ ‘ Oh,  sire!  I heard  a brindle  cow — - 
The  critter  hollered  ‘ Moo.’  ” 

“ That  cannot  be — impossible! 

You  are  a liar,  too.” 

“ Oh,  sire!  I heard  a yellow  dog 

Remarking  ‘ Bow-wow-wow.’  ” 

“ I’ve  slain  my  thousands,  and  you  lie — 

I tell  you  so  right  now.” 

MC  LANDBURGH  WILSON. 

A Busy  Family. 

ii  S^AY,  BUB,”  said  the  book-agent,  as  he  drew  up  at 
the  gate  of  a house  in  a country  town  on  which 
was  swinging  a barefooted  boy,  “ is  your  pa  around?” 

“ Nope.  Pa’s  out  breakin’  in  a colt,”  was  the  reply. 

“ Could  I see  your  ma?” 

“ Nope.  Ma’s  jest  took  a walk  to  break  in  a new 
pair  of  shoes.” 

“ Is  your  big  sister  at  home?” 

“ Nope.  Pete  Lawson  fell  over  town  an’  busted  his 
leg,  an’  she’s  gone. over  to  break  the  news  to  his  ma.” 


Weary  Warbler — “ I, just  asked  the  lady  up  in  the  house 
for  a hand-out,  and  she  gave  me  a worm  that  wasn’t  fit  to  eat.” 


“ Maybe  I could  see  an- 
other one  of  your  sisters?” 


LITTLE  MOTHERS. 

Elsie — “ What’s  your  dolly’s  name?” 
Marjorie — “ Ethel  Watts  Thompson." 

Elsie — “ Is  the  middle  name  on  the  father’s 
or  mother’s  side  ?” 


“ Nope.  The  other’s  gone  to  town  to  break  a ten- 
dollar  bill.” 

“ Well,  I guess  I’ll  have  to  talk  to  your  big  brother, 
then.  Will  you  call  him,  please?” 

“ Can’t.  He’s  breakin’  stone  up  at  the  county  jail.” 
“ Your  folks  seem  to  be  pretty  well  occupied,”  smiled 
the  book  agent.  “ Maybe  I could  interest  you  in  a big 
book  bargain?” 

“Not  me,  mister,”  replied  the  boy.  “That  feller 
cornin’  over  the  hill  called  me  squint-eyed  yesterday,  an’ 
m soon  be  so  busy  breakin’  his  head  that  I won’t  have 
no  time  to  talk  to  you.” 


Man  is  in  his  cups  to-day  and  in  the  jug  to-morrow. 


The  Limit 


By  W.  J.  Lampton 


Not  Intentional. 

Horace — ‘ ‘ Reggy  went 
on  a bear-hunt  and  met 
with  an  accident.” 

Howard — “ Goodness  ! 
What  was  it?” 

Horace — “He  shot 
one.” 


THE  GIRL  was  fixed  in  her  determination  and  her 
eyes  were  hard  and  cold.  The  man  stood  before 
her,  broken  like  a reed  in  the  wind.  He  may  have 
been  broken  in  other  respects,  for  he  had  been  with  her 
to  the  races  that  afternoon,  but  it  has  no  bearing  on  this 
chronicle. 

“ So,  Miss  Tyndall,”  he  was  saying,  “ you  persist  in 
breaking  our  engagement?” 

“ I do,”  she  nodded  with  adamantine  firmness. 

“ And  you  will  not  marry  me?” 

“Never.” 

“ No  matter  what  I do?” 

“ What  matters  it  to  me?” 

“ Not  if  I plunge  into  the  flowing  bowl?” 

“No.” 

“ Not  if  I gamble  away  my  patrimony?” 

“No.” 

“ Not  if  I waste  my  substance  in  riotous  living?” 
“No.” 

“ Not  if  I — if  I ” — he  hesitated — “ not  if  I take  my 
own  life?” 

“No,  no,”  she  insisted. 

He  saw  how  futile  were  all  his  pleadings.  His  eyes 
stiffened  and  his  face  grew  hard.  Her  cruelty  was  re- 
acting upon  him. 

“ Very  well,”  he  said,  turning  away;  “ it  is  now  up 
to  me  to  marry  Kitty  Gray.” 


“ What!”  she  exclaimed,  taking  a step  forward. 

“ I said  it  was  up  to  me  to  marry  Kitty  Gray.” 

“ You  wouldn’t  marry  that  girl,  would  you?” 

“ Why  not?  She’s  as  good  as  anybody,  isn’t  she?’ 

“ No,  she  isn’t.” 

“ I guess  yes,  she  is.” 

“ But  I know  better.  Why,  she  is  ” 

“I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Tyndall,”  he  interrupted 
almost  fiercely;  “ but  I cannot  permit  any  one  to  traduce 
Miss  Gray  in  my  presence.” 

“ I’m  not  traducing  her.  I’m  only  telling  the  truth. 

She  is  red-headed  and  ” 

“ I like  red  hair,”  he  broke  in  tenderly. 

“ Well,  you  won’t  like  it  on  Kitty  Gray.  She  has  a 
temper  that  — - 

“ I beg  your  pardon.” 

“ You  needn’t  to.  I’m  going  to  say  what  I want  to 
about  that  girl.” 

“ And  I won’t  listen  to  it.” 

“ Ah ! is  Mr.  Barton  so  much  in  love  with  Miss  Gray?” 
“ That  is  my  affair.” 

“ How  many  other  affairs  have  you,  pray?” 

“ That  is  my  affair,  also.” 

“ And  you  ask  me  to  marry  you?”  she  almost  sobbed. 
“ Yes,  I do;  and  have  and  will,”,  he  almost  howled  in 
joyous  hope. 

“ Have  you  asked  Kitty  Gray,  too?” 

“ Not  yet.” 

“ Then  you  sha’n’t  if  I 
can  help  it.  I will  make 
any  sacrifice  to  thwart 
that  girl.” 

“ Dear  Charlotte!”, 
“Oh,  Harry!” 

(Seven  minutes  later.) 
“ Do  you  really  care 
for  Kitty  Gray,  Harry?” 
“Of  course  not;  she 
ran  away  yesterday  and 
married  Tom  Perkins.” 
“Tom  Perkins?  My 
old  sweetheart  ! Poor 
Tom!” 


HE  MIGHT  CATCH  IT. 

Young  turkey — “ What  is  Thanksgiving,  pa  ?” 
Old  turkey — “ It’s  a kind  of  epidemic,  my  son.” 


'T'HERE’S  nothing 
* most  girls  can  ap- 
pear so  perfectly  natural 
at  as  being  artificial. 


a- 
-a  cl. 
<v  co 


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<D  '"5  2 

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kS  d .« 
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^ ^ ^ 


Jonesy’s  Narrow  Escape 

A Convivial  Tale  of  Mixed  Christmas  Presents 

By  Ed  IVlott 


JIBSON  was  such  a convivial  chap  that  all  seasons 
were  jolly  ones  to  him — at  least,  he  was  jolly  in 
all  seasons;  so  when  he  came  around  to  the  club 
the  day  after  a memorable  Christmas,  and  with  a 
seriousness  that  was  an  unprecedented  result  of  his 
social  contact  with  men  and  things  declared  that  the 
Christmas  time  had  “ poo’  near  shoved  him  off  the  dock,” 
the  fellows  were  taken  by  surprise. 

“ Why,  Jib!”  they  said.  “ What  in  the  world  ” 

“Christmas  presents!”  replied  Jibson,  dropping  into 
a chair  and  closing  one  eye  as  if  to  get  a better  focus  on 
things.  “Say!  Ask  Jonesy!  Ask  ’Tilda!  Ask  ma! 
Ask  the  new  preacher!  Say!  ’Fadd’n’  been  for  the 
new  preacher,  I’d  swep’  the  cobwebs  off  the  wall  with 
Jonesy  and  mopped  the  floor  with  him!  Me  and  Jonesy 
had  a scrap!  Yess’r!  Come  poo’ near  wiping  him  off 
the  face  the  earth,  b’gee!” 

That  anything  should  have  come  between  two  old  and 
almost  inseparable  boon  companions  like  Jibson  and 
Jonesy  was  incredible,  and  the  expressions  of  surprise 
and  regret  were  unanimous  in  the  club. 

“ But  tell  us  how  about  it.  Jib,”  they  said. 
“Ch’life!”  said  Jibson.  “Jonesy  had  a nar’  ’scape, 
dosh’sh’ forget  it!  Came  poo’ near  wiping  him  off  the 
face  the  earth!  But  it’s  all  right  now.  Ch’life  it  is, 
and  there’s  big  load  off  of  my  mind.  I’m  all  right,  and 
Jonesy’s  all  right,  and  ’Tilda’s  all  right,  and  ma’s  all 
right,  and  the  new  preacher’s  all  right.  But  ’fadd’n’ 
been  for  the  new  preach — say,  fell’s,  they  can’t  foo’th 
me,  jussessame ! They  want  to 
look  out  for  the  locomo’ve  when 
the  bell  rings  if  they  foo’th  me, 
or  there’ll  be  a soun’v  revelry  b’ 
night  that’ll  be  worse’n — worse’n 
— worse’n  a rolling  earthquake, 
b’gee!  Say!  Jonesy  had  a nar’ 

'scape,  I want  to  tell  you!  So’d 
the  floor.  So’d  the  cobwebs  on 
the  wall.  ’Fadd’n’  been  for  the 
new  preacher,  I’d  mixed  Jonesy 
up  with  ’em  so’s  they’d  had  to 
be  inner-inn er-innerduced  to 
their  friends  to  know  which ’s 
which  and  who’s  who,  dosh’sh’ 
forget  it!” 

The  fellows  at  the  club  insist- 
ed on  knowing  what  it  had  all 
been  about  and  how  it  had  come. 

“Cer’ly,”  said  Jibson. 

“Christmas  presents,  that’s 
how.  Ma  lives  in  Jersey.  ’Til- 
da’s ma.  Uzzstamme?  Tilda’s 
ma.  When  ’Tilda’s  ma  ain’t 
four  house  with  me  and  ’Tilda, 


’Tilda’s  ma  lives  in  Jersey.  ’Tilda’s  ma’s  to  our  house 
poo’  near  all  the  time,  bussallright.  Sh’  lives  in  Jersey. 
Ma’s  all  right.  Sh’s  all  right.  So’s  new  preacher.  So’s 
’Til — say,  ’fadd’n’  been  for  the  new  preach — bussall- 
right. Nar’  ’scape,  jussessame!  ’Tilda  says  to  me, 
‘ Dosh’sh’  want  to  go  spend  Christmas  with  ma,  Jibby, 
dear?’  Ch’life  I did,  for  I was  poo’  near  sure  ma  was 
going  to  spend  Christmas  with  me  and  ’Tilda.  ‘ Cer’ly!’ 
I says;  and  ’Tilda  said  all  right,  we’d  go  spend  Christ- 
mas with  ma.  ‘ But,  say !’  I says,  ‘ ma  mussav’  a Christ- 
mas present.  Got  to  get  ma  a Christmas  present,’  I 
says;  and  ’Tilda  said,  ‘ Oh,  cer’ly,  ma  mussav’  a Christ- 
mas present.’  ‘ W’ash’ll  it  be?’  I says.  ‘Oh!’  'Tilda 
says,  ‘ red  silk  ni-ni-nightcap ! Ma  mussav’  a red  silk 
nightcap!  Just  w’ash  sh’  wants.  Red  silk  ni-ni-night- 
cap’ll  be  too  sweet  for  anything!’  ’Tilda  says.  And 
I said  all  right,  ma  sh’ll’av’  it,  b’gee! 

“Then  poo’  soon  ’Tilda  says,  ‘Oh,  my!  The  new 
preacher  mussav’  a Christmas  present,  too!’  And  I 
said  why,  cer’ly ; got  to  make  the  new  preacher  a 
Christmas  present,  of  course.  ‘ W’ash’ll  it  be?’  I says. 
‘ Slippers,’  ’Tilda  says.  ‘ Preachers  always  get  slippers 
for  Christmas,’  ’Tilda  says.  ‘So  they  do,’  I says. 
‘Gee!’  I says;  ‘if  preachers  didn’t  get  slippers  for 
Christmas,  they’d  think  the  church  militant  had  run  on 
a snag!’  I says.  ‘Jibby!’  ’Tilda  says.  ‘Mercy  me! 
Dosh’sh’  let  ma  hear  you  talk  that  way!  Ma’ll  be 
shocked!’  ‘ Nev’  mind  ma!’ I says.  ‘Ma’s  all  right! 
Goin’ to  spend  Christmas  with  ma ! Slippers!  Slippers 
all  right!  New  preacher’s  all 
right!  W’assizz  size?’  I says. 
‘ Eights  and  a half,’  'Tilda  says. 
‘ Preachers  always  wear  eights 
and  a half,’  ’Tilda  says. 

“Ch’life!  Bought  ma  a red 
silk  nightcap  and  new  preacher  a 
pair  of  slippers — nice  green  slip- 
pers, eights  and  a half,  and  a 
yellow  dog  on  the  instep,  with 
blue  ears  and  a pink  tail.  Beau’- 
ful,  b’gee!  Beau’ful!  ‘Jonesy!’ 
I says.  ‘ Got  to  get  a present  for 
Jonesy!  W’ash’ll  it  be?’  I says. 
‘ Jonesy’  — say,  fell’s!  Jonesy 
had  nar’  ’scape,  dosh’sh’  forget 
it!  ’Fadd’n’  been  for  the  new 
preacher ’d  swep’  the  cobwebs — 
say,  fell’s!  Nar’  ’scape,  b’gee!” 
Young  Jibson  paused  as  if 
pondering  over  the  prevented  ca- 
tastrophe, and  the  fellows  at  the 
club  jogged  his  memory. 

“ Did  you  get  Jonesy  a pres* 
ent,  Jib?”  they  asked. 


AN  INFERENCE. 


Sparrow—"  I wonder  if  Santa  Claus  will  think 
we  hung  those  up?" 


NOTHING  DOING. 

‘ What  did  your  wife  give  you  for  Christmas  ?” 

‘ Nothing.  She  said  she  didn’t  have  enough  trading  stamps. 


“Ch’life!”  said  he,  coming  back  to  the  situation. 
“ ‘ W’ash’ll  it  be?’  I says.  ‘ Boll’l  the  old  st-st-stuff !’ 
I says.  ‘ Nothing’ll  please  Jonesy  like  a boll ’1  the  old 
stuff!’  I says.  ‘ Bessizz  ain’t  any  too  good  for  Jonesy!’ 
Isays.  ‘Ch’life!’ 

“ Went  round  to  Duffy’s  and  got  a boll ’1  the  old  st-st- 
stuff,  bessizz,  and  Duffy  semmup.  Christmas  Eve,  and 
Duffy  semmup.  I semmup.  Christmas  Eve,  and  I 
semmup.  Christmas  Eve,  .and  everybody  semmup. 
Ch’life!  Said,  ‘ Merr’  Christmas!’  more’n  a hundred 
times,  an’  poo’  soon  I says,  ‘ Gee!  Poo’  near  forgot  my 
Christmas  presents  ! Got  to  send  my  Christmas  presents ! 
Got  to  go  home,  too,  or’ll  be  late  for  dinner,  and  ’Tilda’  11 
be  dish ’pointed !’  I says. 

“ ‘ Go  gish’sh’  dinner,’  Duffy  says.  ‘ Dosh’sh’  dish’- 
poin’  sh’wife!’  Duffy  says.  ‘I’ll  send  your  Christmas 
presents,  ’ he  says.  ‘ Gwan!  Skiddoo!’ he  says. 

“ ‘ Bully  for  you,  old  man  !’  I says;  and  I gave  Duffy 
ma’s  address,  and  the  new  preacher’s  address,  and 
Jonesy’s  address.  ‘ Dosh’sh’  forget  ’em,  old  man !’  T says. 

“ ‘ Gwan!’  Duffy  says.  ‘ W’ash’sh’  take  me  for?  Go 
gish’sh’  dinner!  Dosh’sh’  dish’poin’  sh’wife!  Merr’ 
Christmas!  Good-by!  Skiddoo !’  Duffy  says. 

“‘Right!’  I says.  ‘Merr’  Christmas!  Good-by!’ 
and  I didn’t  dish’poin’  ’Tilda.  Say,  fell’s!’’  said  young 
Jibson,  after  a pondering  pause;  “yes’day’s  Christmas, 
wasn’t  it?”  > 

They  told  him  yes,  yesterday  was  Christmas. 

“All  right!”  said  Jibson.  “Yes’day  morning  me 


and  ’Tilda  went  to  ma’s.  Ma  lives  in  Jersey. 
’Tilda’s  ma.  Uzztamme?  ’Tilda’s  ma.  Rang 
ma’s  bell,  and  ’Tilda  says,  ‘ Won’t  dear  ma  be 
pleased?’  ‘ Ch’life  !’  I says.  Ma  came  to  the  door. 
‘ Merr’  Christmas,  ma!’  I says;  and  ‘ Merr’  Christ- 
mas, ma!’  ’Tilda  says.  But,  say!  Ma’s  head  was 
up  in  the  air  like  the  Stash’  o’ Liberty,  b’gee! 
Poo’  soon  ma  looked  down  at  me,  and  I looked  out 
in  the  cold  world  for  an  ice  wagon  to  climb  on  and 
get  warm ! 

“ ‘ ’Tilda,’  ma  says,  ‘does  ziss  husband  of  yours 
take  this  house  for  a dime  mu  - mu  - museyum? 
Does  he  take  me  for  Big-foot  Liz,  the  freak  lady 
from  Ohio,  with  feet  a yard  and  a half  long? 
’Tilda, ’ says  ma,  ‘ j’come  to  Jersey  to  see  your 
poor  old  ma  insulted?’  says  ma. 

’Tilda  looked  at  me,  and  I looked  at  ’Tilda, 
and  ’Tilda  says, 

“‘Jibson!’  ’Tilda  says,  raspy,  jess  like  that. 
‘Jibson,  wassziss  mean?’ 

“‘Give  it  up!’  Isays.  ‘But  ma  don’t  seem 
pleased !’  I says. 

“Ma  says,  ‘Eights  and  a half!  And  green! 
And  yellow  and  blue  and  pink  dog  on  ’em ! ’ Stoo- 

much!’  ma  says,  and  banged  a big  pair  of  slippers 
together,  most  in  my  eyes. 

“‘Gee!’  I says.  ‘The  new  preacher’s  Christ- 
mas present!’  I says.  ‘ New  preacher’s  Christmas 
present  got  stuck  in  ma’s  parcel !’  I says.  ‘ Where’s 
ma’s  red  silk  ni-ni-nightcap?’  I says. 

“Ma  burs’sin  tears,  and  ’Tilda  burs’sin  tears, 
and  ma  says,  ‘Oh,  Jibby,  dear,  forgive  me! 
Merr’  Christmas!’ 

“ ‘ ’Sallright,’  I says;  ‘but  where’s  ma’s  red  silk 
nightcap?  ’Tilda!’  I says,  ‘gee!  the  new  preacher’s 
got  ma’s  red  silk  ni-ni-nightcap ! Here’s  a sish’wation  !’ 
I says.  ‘ Made  the  new  preacher  a Christmas  present  of 
a red  silk  nightcap!  Now,  ’Tilda,’  I says,  ‘now’s  the 
time  for  me  to  go  and  jump  off  the  dock!’ 

“But  ma  says,  ‘’Sallright,  Jibby,  dear!  Go  back 
to-morr’  and  change  the  green  slippers  for  the  red  silk 
ni-ni-nightcap,  and  ’polzhize  to  the  new  preacher.  Uz- 
ztamme?’ ma  says. 

“ ‘ Ch’life!’  I says;  and  we  had  Merr’  Christmas  all 
over  again.  Came  over  to-day  to  change  the  green  slip- 
pers for  ma’s  red  silk  nightcap.  Met  Jonesy,  and  he 
says  to  me,  ‘Say,  young  feller!  You  can’t  be  funny 
with  me.  See?’ 

“ ‘ Young  feller!’  I says.  ‘ Gee!  Call  me  young  fel- 
ler! W’as’ma’r  of  you?’ I says;  and  I came  poo’ near 
most  jumping  on  Jonesy.  ‘Explain  yourself,’  I says, 

‘ or  patience’ll  cease  to  be  a virtue,  b’gee!  and  blood’ll 
flow!’  I says. 

“ ‘ Let  it  flow !’  says  Jonesy.  ‘ ’Twon’t  be  my  blood ! 
Say!’  he  says.  ‘ I don’t  take  any  more  nightcaps  ’n  you 
do!’  he  says. 

“‘W’ash’sh’  mean?’  I says.  ‘W’ash’sh’  mean  by 
nightcaps?’  I says;  and,  say!  I poo’  near  most  took 
Jonesy  by  the  neck.  ‘ Don’t  tamper  with  me  any  more, 
Mr.  Jones!’  I says  ‘ Explain  yourself,  fur  Rome’s  get- 
ting ready  to  howl,  b’gee!’  I says. 


NON-SUITED. 

Johnny — “ Hello,  Jimmy ! What’s  the  matter  with  you 
Jimmy — “ Didn’t  you  hear  about  it  ? Our  house  burned  down 
last  night  and  all  I’ve  got  to  wear  is  my  sister's  suit." 


“ ‘ Don’t  care  for  Rome!’  Jonesy  says.  * Don’t  care 
for  howl ! Can  lick  you  in  two  minutes!’  he  says. 

“ ‘ W’ash’sh’  mean  by  nightcaps?’  I says.  I wasn’t 
going  to  let  Jonesy  bluff  me,  dosh’sh’  forget  it! 

“‘Nightcaps!  ’Swat  I mean !’ says  Jonesy.  ‘You 
sent  me  a red  silk  nightcap  for  Christmas ! Red  silk 
ni-ni-nightcap ! Say!  J’take  me  for  an  old  granny?’ 
Jonesy  says. 

“‘Oh!’ I says.  ‘ I can’t  stand  any  more ! Can’t  any 
man  call  ma  an  old  granny,  b’gee!  unless  he  wants  to 
be  wiped  off  the  face  the  earth!  Red  silk  nightcap’s 
ma’s!  Can’t  any  man  call  ma  an  old  granny!’  I says. 

“ Say!  I poo’  near  most  had  Jonesy  by  the  neck  to 
sweep  the  cobwebs  off  the  wall  and  wipe  up  the  floor 
with  him,  when  I happened  to  think,  and  Jonesy’s  life 
was  saved.  Nar’  ’scape,  b’gee!  ’Fadd’n’been  for  new 
preacher — ‘ My  good  gracious !’  I says.  ‘ The  new 
preacher  ain’  got  ma’s  red  silk  ni-ni-nightcap!  New 
preacher’s  got  Jonesy’s  boll’l  the  old  st-st-stuff! 
Jonesy!’  I says,  ‘come!  Come  Tong’z  me  and  see  me 
jump  off  the  dock  !’  I says. 

“ Say!  Was  rushing  to  find  a dock,  and  poo’  soon  a 
man  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder.  Looked  up.  New 
preacher,  b’gee! 

“‘Oh!’  I says.  ‘New  preacher,  and  he’s  going  to 
kill  me!  Poor  ’Tilda  and  ma!’  I says. 

“ ‘ Mis’r  Jibson,’  the  new  preacher  says,  ‘ glad  to  see 
you!  Say!  The  boll’l  was  great!  Bessizz,  and  I know 
it!’  he  says.  ‘ Thanks  vemmuch!’  he  says.  ‘ But,  say!’ 
he  says,  ‘how  j’know  I liked  a li’l  for  my  stom-stom- 
stomach’s  sake ! Mis’r  Jibson,  thanks  vemmuch ! Happy 
New  Year!’  he  says;  and  before  I could  say,  ‘ Samechoo 
and  many  of  ’em !’  he  was  gone. 

4 


“ Say!  If  I hadn’t  been  poo’  near  Duffy’s  I’d  fainted 
dead  away!  Just  came  from  Duffy’s  now,  getting  load 
off  my  mind.  And  say!  ’Fadd’n’been  for  the  new 
preacher — bussallright!  Going  back  to  ma’s  now  to 
’grash’late  ma  and  ’Tilda  on  the  new  preacher,  b’gee! 
But  didn’t  Jonesy  have  a nar’  ’scape?  Ch’life!” 


Reconstruction. 

IN  THE  Southland  lived  a maiden 
Fair  to  see. 

Soul  with  love  of  living  laden, 

Heart  with  love  of  loving  laden; 

None  deceiving, 

All  believing, 

She  was  what  a maid  should  be. 

Came  there  to  her  swains  a-sighing — 
Many  swains; 

Some  with  love  and  true  hearts  dying. 
Some  with  gold  who  would  be  buying; 
Love  and  money, 

Bees  and  honey, 

She  had  thoughts  of  precious  gains. 


One  among  them  was  a Yankee — 
Think  of  that! 

Owner  of  a mill  and  bank,  he 
Had  some  looks  as  well,  though  lanky; 
And  he  thought  her 
Heaven’s  own  daughter, 
Which  is  worth  the  looking  at. 

And  it  came  to  pass  thereafter 
All  the  rest 

Teased  her  mightily  and  chaffed  her; 
Said  he  was  a Northern  grafter, 

And  they  froze  him. 

But  she  chose  him. 

For  she  loved  that  Yankee  best. 

WILLIAM  J.  LAMPTON. 

Something  Wrong. 

*1*HE  little  girl  had  gotten  up  very 
* early  in  the  morning  for  the  first 
time. 

“Oh,  mamma!”  she  ex- 
claimed, returning  from  the 
window,  “ the  sun ’s  cornin’ 
out  all  right,  but  God ’s  for- 
gotten to  turn  off  the 
moon.” 

Jest  and  Earnest. 

Jk#ANY  a true  word  is 
spoken  in  jest,  but 
the  majority  of 
lies  are  utter- 
ed in  dead 
earnest. 


In  1920. 

Hub  b y — 
“ This  pie,  my 
love,  is  just  the 
kind  that  moth- 
er used  to  buy 
at  her  b a k - 
ery 


CONDITIONAL. 

“ I can  only  give  you  a ticket,  Mr.  Goose,  if 
you’ll  promise  not  to  hiss  when  the  show  is  on.” 


A Terrible  Oversight. 


WAS  close  to  midnight 
when  the  Smiths  finished 
trimming  the  tree  on 
Christmas  Eve,  and  as  they 
sat  down  to  survey  the 
work  Smith  yawned  and 
remarked, 

“ Well,  I guess  that 
winds  up  the  biggest  job  I 
ever  tackled,  and  any  one 
who  mentions  Christmas 
tree  to  me  again  is  taking 
big  chances.  Have  we  at- 
tended to  everything,  do 
you  think?” 

“ Yes;  I think  we  have, 
Charles,”  replied  his  wife. 
“ I checked  off  the  list  of 
gifts  this  afternoon,  and  it 
was  all  right.” 

“You  surely  got  the 


hired  girl’s  present?” 

“ You  may  be  sure  of  that.” 

“Then  any  other  errors  don’t  count,  and  we  can  go 
to  bed  and  rest  easy.  I think  I could  sleep  a week.” 

The  Smiths  retired,  and  Smith  had  just  begun  to 
dream  that  he  was  engaged  in  trimming  a tree  twenty 
feet  high,  when  Mrs.  Smith  awoke  him  and  excitedly 
said, 

“ You’ve  got  to  get  up  instantly,  Charles!” 

“ Not  me!”  he  replied. 

“ But  you’ve  simply  got  to!” 

“ Not  unless  the  house  is  afire.” 

“ It’s  worse  than  that,  Charles.  Oh,  how  could  we 
have  been  so  thoughtless — how  could  we?” 

“ Please  keep  quiet  and  let  me  go  to  sleep!”  growled 
Smith.  “ If  you  think  I’m  going  to  get  up  on  some  fool 
errand,  you’re  mistaken.  The  cat’s  in,  and  everything 
is  all  right.” 

“But,  Charles,”  she  went  on,  “you  don’t  understand. 
We’ve  forgotten  to  buy  a Christmas  present  for  the 
janitor.  For  the  janitor — do  you  understand?” 

Smith  lay  quiet  for  a moment  or  two.  Then,  with  a 
cry  of  dismay,  he  leaped  out  of  bed  and  hurriedly  dressed 
and  dashed  out  to  see  if  there  wasn’t  yet  time  to  correct 
the  terrible  oversight. 


An  Original  Hit. 

«WHAT  we  want  is  something  really  original,” 

* ” said  the  editor,  wearily  leaning  back  in  his 
chair. 

“ I think  I have  it  here,”  answered  Scratchum. 

“ What’s  the  nature  of  it?” 

“ Dialect.” 

“ Pshaw!” 

“ It  isn’t  the  regular  kind  of  dialect.  Let  me  read  a 
bit  of  it.” 

“ Well,  go  ahead,  but  cut  it  short.” 

Scratchum  began. 

“ ‘ Through  the  krantz  and  over  the  nek  the  Uitlander 
came.  Along  the  poort  and  past  the  kopje,  until  he 
reached  the  spruit  ’ ” ■ 

“ That’s  good  for  a beginning,”  smiled  the  chief. 

“ ‘ Crossing  the  sluit,’  ” continued  Scratchum,  “ ‘ he 
ran  across  the  veldt,  and  then,  worn  out  with  fatigue,  he 
stopped.  He  looked  back  to  see  if  the  zarps  were  on  his 
tracks,  and  then  sank  down  exhausted.  Presently  he 
arose,  and,  crawling  to  the  fontein  in  the  kloof,  he  ate  a 
little  biltong  and  some  mealies,  which  he  washed  down 
with  a little  dop  he  had  in  his  flask.  “At  the  next 
kraal,”  said  he,  “ I’ll  ” ’ ” 

“ That’ll  do,  ” interrupted  the  deus  ex-machina.  “I 
don’t  know  what  it’s  all  about,  but  work  in  the  Boer  dia- 
lect as  much  as  you  can,  and  then,  in  the  middle  of  the 
story,  get  your  man  to  China  in  some  way,  and  if  with 
the  help  of  a sprinkling  of  Wan-Shan-Shan,  Chi-Li,  Nan- 
Yuen,  and  a brigade  of  washee-washee  names,  such  as 
Wo-Yung,  Chin-Lee,  Gee-Wo,  etc.,  we  don’t  run  out  of 
hyphens,  we’ll  be  sure  to  catch  the  public  taste.  Good 
idea,  Scratchum.  Follow  it  up  with  something  Russian.” 

And  the  editor  sank  back  in  his  chair  again,  this  time 
delightedly,  for  he  had  captured  a “ hit.” 

Might  as  Well  Be  Opened  with  Them. 

t(  7 AM  sorry,  my  dear  sir;  but  I neglected  to  bring 

* my  surgical  instruments  with  me.” 

“That  will  be  all  right,  doctor.  The  plumber  who 
has  been  working  in  the  cellar  has  left  his  tools  here.” 

Willing  To  Stand  a Good  Deal. 

Doris — -“  But  I never  told  you  that  I have  a brother- 
in-law  who  is  a senator.” 

Harry — “No  matter,  darling.  Even  that  fact  can- 
not separate  us.” 


WHEN  THE  ROOSEVELT  IDEA  TRIUMPHS. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  CLASSIC  OVER  COMMON  MUSIC. 

Mr.  T.'Cat  (as  disturbed  musician  appears  on  scene) — “ Well,  wouldn’t  that  jolt  a saint — a jack-in-the  box  for  ours!” 

To  the  Victor — 


MXTER  HONOR,  I’ll  tell  yer  jest  how  ’twas,”said  the 
* man  with  the  saffron  eye  as  he  stood  before  the 
police  judge. 

“ Me  an’  Jake  wus  both  in  love  wid  little  Mame. 
Well,  de  time  came  when  she  had  ter  pick  between  de 
two  uv  us.  Mame,  she  cast  her  lamps  over  him  an’  me, 
like  a feller’d  size  up  a couple  uv  easy  marks,  an’  she 
sez,  ‘ To  de  victor  belongs  de  goils, ’ an’  told  us  ter  fight 
it  out,  an’  she’d  marry  de  winner. 

“I  met  Jake  in  a back  yard  on  Christopher  Street, 
an’  we  went  to  it.  I won’t  describe  de  offensive  details 
to  yer  honor,  but  I will  say  dat  in  about  three  an’  two- 
thirds  minutes,  after  a spirited  encounter,  I landed  a left 
to  his  solar,  an’  he  wuz  down  an’  out.  I left  him  lyin’ 


dere  on  de  ground  an’  walked  over  ter  Barney’s  ter  soak 
up  a couple  uv  beers  in  commemyration  uvde  event;  den 
I cruised  around  ter  Marne’s  ter  claim  my  skirt. 

“ Now,  mebbe  yer  honor  can’t  guess  what  [happened 
while  I wuz  t’rowin’  dem  beers  inter  me.  Well,  yer 
honor,  dat  man  Jake  recovered  from  his  knockout,  an’ 
when  I got  ter  Marne’s  room  all  dat  wuz  left  wuz  a note 
on  de  table.  ‘ Art,’  she  sez,  ‘ I have  beat  it  wid  Jake. 
I hate  ter  pull  out  uv  de  game  wid  de  jack-pot,  but  when 
I said  I’d  marry  de  best  man  I thought  it  would  be  Jake.’  ” 
The  prisoner  looked  full  into  the  face  of  the  judge. 
“ Do  yer  blame  me  fer  gittin’  drunk,  yer  honor?” 

“ Discharged,”  replied  the  eminent  person  evasively 
as  he  slammed  the  docket  back  on  the  clerk’s  desk. 


DWIGHT  SPENCER  ANDERSON. 


Big  Bill’s  Santa  Claus  Joke 

By  Wilbur  D.  Nesbit 


BIG  BILL  was  the  acknowledged  humorist  of  the 
alley  gang.  He  had  graduated  from  the  school 
of  wit  and  fun,  which  includes  in  its  curriculum 
such  side-splitting  stunts  as  sprinkling  broken 
glass  and  tacks  in  the  way  of  automobiles,  and  attaching 
empty  cans  to  the  tails  of  unsuspecting  dogs,  and  throw- 
ing icy  snowballs  at  the  heads  of  strangers  who  came 
a-slumming. 

Big  Bill  was  now  artistically  above  such  things.  He 
would  no  more  be  caught  upsetting  a fruit-stand  or  drop- 
ping a dead  rat  into  the  sugar  barrel  in  the  little  grocery 
at  the  end  of  the  alley  than  Mark  Twain  would  consent 
to  “make  faces’’  for  the  amusement  of  babies.  Big 
Bill  now  turned  to  the  higher  forms  of  humor — to  the 
sort  that  meant  something.  It  was  he  who  had  con- 
ceived and  executed  the  ridiculous  stunt  of  pouring  tar 
on  the  steps  of  old  man  Jones’s  home  last  fall,  one  Sun- 
day morning.  And  when  old  man  Jones  came  out  in  his 
new  suit  to  go  to  church  and  slid  all  the  way  down  the 
steps  and  ruined  his  clothes,  Big  Bill’s  face  came  as 
near  wearing  a smile  as  it  ever  did — until  the  night  be- 
fore Christmas,  when  he  played  his  best  joke. 

Away  down  the  alley,  in  a little  ramshackle  frame 
house  that  defied  every  rule  of  the  building  and  health 
departments,  lives  the  Spriggins  family.  Spriggins 
himself  is  at  home  only  when  he  is  out  of  the  workhouse 
— but  he  hasn’t  been  in  since  Christmas.  Mrs.  Sprig- 
gins is  not  only  an  invalid,  but  she  takes  in  washing  to 
keep  the  family,  and  when  Spriggins  didn’t  take  her 
money  from  her  there  were  occasions  when  a good 
square  meal  came  on  the  table.  There  are  three  Sprig- 
gins children — all  under  nine  years  of  age.  Bennie  is 
the  oldest,  Freddie  is  seven,  and  Roselle  is  five. 

Christmas  Eve  Big  Bill,  and  Shorty  McTodd,  and 
Freckles  King,  and  Limpy  Kelly,  and  Jiggs  Long  were 
in  the  rear  room  of  Jenowski’s  saloon,  with  “ bowls  of 


suds  ” before  them.  They  wanted  to  do  someth!  ig 
funny,  but,  as  Jiggs  said,  they  had  done  everything 
funny  except  kill  some  one,  and  the  cops  wouldn’t  stan  1 
for  that.  Big  Bill  had  been  sitting  in  silence  for  hal  - 
an  hour,  and  now  he  spoke. 

“ Say,”  he  muttered,  “ isn’t  dere  a Sandy  Claus  at  ; 
to  be  pulled  off  at  dat  choych  up  on  de  nex’  corner?” 

“ Sure !”  gleefully  exclaimed  Shorty.  “ Let’s  go  up 
dere  an’  put  it  on  de  blink.” 

“ Naw,  ” declared  Big  Bill.  “ Let  dem  have  de  show. 
Den  let’s  go  cop  out  de  togs — an’  I’ll  play  Sandy  Claus 
here  in  de  alley.” 

It  took  a full  minute  for  the  complete  significance  of 
this  plan  to  sink  into  the  understandings  of  the  others, 
then  they  agreed  it  was  the  best  ever. 

“ I hear  dem  Spriggins  kids  talkin’  to-day  to  deir 
mudder, ” said  Big  Bill.  “ Dey  was  handin’  it  out  dat 
dis  was  de  night  Sandy  was  due  to  blow  in  wid  de  goods. 
Huh!  Say,  wot’s  de  matter  wid  me  bein’  Sandy,  an’ 
breakin’  in  dere  an’  loadin’  dem  up  wid  presents?” 

“ Wot?”  asked  Freckles  King  disgustedly.  “ Wot  in 
’ell  would  you  do  for  presents?” 

“ Gadder  up  all  de  old  truck  around — -empty  bottles 
an’  cans  an’ — an’  t’ings,  ” Bill  outlined  lamely. 

“Great!  Take  dem  in  an’  spread  ’em  all  over  de 
bed.  Poke  a few  empties  in  de  stockin’s,  an’  all  dat 
sort  o’  t’ing!”  Limpy  cried. 

“ I’ll  be  watchin’  at  dat  choych,”  Big  Bill  planned, 
“ an’  when  de  Sandy  Claus  guy  gets  t’roo  wid  his  stunt 
I’ll  watch  where  he  shucks  his  togs,  an’  den  I’ll  make  a 
getaway  wid  d'em.  De  rest  is  easy.  ” 

Along  about  ten  o’clock  Big  Bill  was  in  the  shadowy 
hall  off  the  Sunday-school  room  of  “ de  choych,”  and 
when  the  portly  person  who  had  enacted  Santa  Claus 
came  forth,  followed  by  shrieks  of  delight,  Bill  tiptoed 
softly  after  him  to  a rear  room,  waited  until  he  emerged 

in  his  every-day  clothing, 
then  as  silently  slipped 
into  the  rear  room,  gath- 
ered up  the  wig,  whiskers 
and  costume,  and  let  him- 
self out  of  a window. 

Jiggs,  Shorty,  Freck- 
les and  Limpy  helped 
him  get  into  the  disguise, 
and  filled  his  pack  with  a 
choice  collection  of  rocks, 
half-bricks,  empty  bot- 
tles, old  cans,  a discarded 
corset,  an  ash-sifter,  an 
old  egg-beater,  and  other 
material  they  had  gar- 
nered in  the  garbage  bar- 
rels of  the  neighborhood. 
Then  the  procession  filed 
down  the  alley  to  the  rick- 
ety steps  leading  up  to  the 


“ Bill  tore  this  off  and  held  it  where  the  candle-light  would 
strike  it.” 


Sprigging  domicile.  They  crept  cautiously  up  the  creaky 
steps,  subduing  their  chuckles  as  best  they  might.  At 
the  door  Big  Bill  shook  a warning  fist  at  them,  and  they 
stopped,  while  he  pushed  the  door  slowly  open  and  went 
catlike  into  the  house. 

A guttering  candle  stuck  in  an  empty  bottle  on  what 
once  had  been  a mantel-shelf  furnished  sufficient  illumi- 
nation for  Big  Bill  to  see  clearly,  he  being  used  to  squint- 
ing into  the  dark.  Spriggins  was  not  at  home,  as  was 
to  have  been  expected  on  Christmas  Eve  or  any  other 
eve.  Mrs.  Spriggins  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  weary 
and  exhausted  on  a pallet  on  the  floor  near  a heap  of 
washing,  over  which  she  evidently  had  toiled  all  day  and 
evening.  Bennie  and  Freddie  and  little  Roselle  lay  in 
an  apology  for  a bed  across  the  room  from  Mrs.  Sprig- 
gins. Hanging  from  the  mantel-shelf  were  three  pairs 
of  stockings,  all  darned  and  ragged.  And  pinned  to  one 
of  the  littlest  stockings  was  a piece  of  soiled  paper. 
Bill  tore  this  off  and  held  it  where  the  candle-light  would 
strike  it. 

He  had  softly  placed  his  pack  on  the  floor,  ready  to 
stuff  the  stockings,  but  as  he  read  the  little  note  he 
turned  and  looked  across  the  room  at  the  children.  Then 
he  tiptoed  over  to  the  bed  and  looked  down  at  the  three 
faces.  The  boys  were  sleeping  calmly  enough,  and  so 
wa3  little  Roselle,  but  on  her  white  cheeks  were  streaks 
that  told  of  tears,  and  in  her  little  fingers  was  the  stub 


of  a pencil  with  which  she  had  scrawled  the  note  Big 
Bill  had  read. 

Big  Bill  looked  back  at  his  pack  and  muttered  some- 
thing under  his  breath.  Then  he  rubbed  his  eyes.  Then 
he  swiftly  picked  up  his  pack  and  hurried  to  the  door, 
where  he  found  his  partners  waiting,  ready  to  laugh  over 
his  account  of  his  performance. 

“ I got  a dollar  an’  a half,”  he  whispered  to  Jiggs. 
“ How  much  money  you  got?” 

“ T’ree  dollars,”  Jiggs  replied  wonderingly. 

“ Give  it  to  me.” 

Jiggs  dumbly  produced  the  money  and  turned  it  over, 
Big  Bill  all  the  while  descending  the  creaky  stairway. 
At  the  foot  he  turned  to  the  others  and  demanded  their 
money. 

“ Didn’t  you  leave  de  stuff?”  Shorty  asked,  indicating 
the  full  pack. 

For  answer  Big  Bill  took  the  sack  by  the  bottom  and 
dumped  its  contents  into  the  alley. 

“Naw,”  he  growled;  ‘‘an.’  I’m  not  goin'  to.  Dose 
kids  a-layin’  dere,  believin’  dat  de  real  Sandy  is  cornin' 
an’  us  muts  tryin’  to  play  horse  wid  ’em  is  too  much  fer 
me.  How  much  coin  you  got,  Shorty?” 

“ Wot  do  you  want  wid  it?”  parried  Shorty. 

Big  Bill  took  him  by  the  neck  and  shook  him  tersier- 
wise  for  a minute,  and,  when  released  from  that  clutch, 
Shorty  produced  a fistful  of  small  change,  which  was 
pocketed  by  Big  Bill.  The  others  did  not  wait  for  an 
invitation;  they  silently  handed  over  what  was  in  their 
pockets. 

“ Come  on,”  Big  Bill  ordered,  and  led  the  way  out  of 
the  alley  and  down  street  to  where  a light  gleamed  from 
the  window  of  a little  toy  and  notion  shop. 

“ I’m  Sandy  Claus,  an’  I run  out  o’  stuff,”  Big  Bil 
announced,  entering  the  shop  in  his  costume.  “ Gimme 
all  you  got  fer  t’ree  kids — two  boys  an’  one  girl— an’ 
most  fer  de  girl — fer  nine  bones  an’  sixty  cents.” 


There  was  a doll  that  opened  and  shut  its  eyes;  there 


‘ Santa  Claus,'  it  said,  ‘ 1 want  to  kiss  you  good-by.' 


was  another  doll  that 
squeaked  “ mamma  ” ; there 
was  a Noah’s  ark,  and  a 
jumping  - jack,  and  some 
woolly  dogs  and  sheep,  and 
a Teddy  bear,  and  a railroad 
train,  and  a fire-engine,  and 
a lot  of  other  little  things. 

And  the  heap  came  to  ten 
dollars  and  exhausted  the 
stock,  so  the  shopkeeper 
made  it  the  even  nine  dol- 
lars and  sixty  cents. 

Back  to  the  alley  and 
back  to  the  Spriggfns  house 
rushed  Big  Bill,  his  faithful 
train  wondering  what  form 
of  insanity  had  stricken  him. 

Up  the  steps  he  went,  two 
at  a time,  and  when  he  slip- 
ped into  the  room  he  found 
little  Roselle  sitting  up  in 
bed,  looking  at  the  empty 
stockings. 

Big  Bill  put  his  finger 
on  his  lips,  and  whispered 
through  his  artificial  whis- 
kers, 

“ Hello,  little  girl ! Keep 
quiet  now,  ’cause  I’m  Sandy 
Claus,  an’  if  you  cheep  I’ll — I’ll  fly  de  coop.” 

Roselle’s  eyes  were  big  by  this  time,  and  she  sol- 
emnly shook  her  head  in  a promise  not  to  make  a sound. 
Big  Bill  methodically  took  the  things  out  of  his  pack. 


He  stuffed  the  toys  into  the 
stockings  where  they  be- 
longed. Roselle  followed  his 
movements  in  amazement. 
And  when  he  shambled  over 
to  her  and  laid  in  her  arms 
the  marvelous  doll  that 
opened  and  shut  its  eyes,  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  awe. 
Then  her  thin  little  lips 
quivered  and  a big  tear  stole 
down  her  cheek  in  a path 
already  laid  out  for  it  by  one 
of  those  that  had  been  shed 
when  she  went  to  sleep. 

‘‘Oh,  Santa  Claus!  Oh, 
Santa  Claus!”  she  whis- 
pered, hugging  the  doll. 

“ Dat’s  all  right,  kid,” 
Big  Bill  said  slowlv  and 
softly. 

“ You  really  came!” 

“ Sure  t’ing!” 

‘‘And  you’re  coming 
every  Christmas?” 

“I’m  damned  if  I don’t !” 
Then  Big  Bill  shook  his 
finger  warningly  at  her,  and 
said, 

“ Git  yer  doll  to  go  to 
sleep,  an’  go  to  sleep  wid  it.” 

Big  Bill  turned  and  started  to  the  door,  when  a faint, 
frightened  little  voice  stopped  him. 

“Santa  Claus,”  it  said,  “I  want  to  kiss  you  good. 

by.” 


GETTING  EVEN. 

Mr.  Sky  Parlor — “ Well,  it  the  landlady  won’t  give  me  any 
heat  I’ll  use  some  out  of  her  chimney.” 


It  was  the  first  time 
such  a thing  ever  hap- 
pened to  Big  Bill,  and  it 
was  lucky  he  had  false 
whiskers  and  wig  on, 
for  his  face  otherwise 
would  have  been  a com- 
bination of  alarm  and 
perspiration. 

He  got  to  the  door 
and  out,  with  a memory 
of  two  thin  arms  that 
hugged  him  chokingly, 
and  of  a wee  kiss  that 
left  a hot  place  on  his 
cheek. 

In  Janowski’s  saloon 
later,  after  Big  Bill  had 
discarded  his  Santa 
Claus  garb,  he  said, 

“ It  would  ’a’  been  a 
cinch,  only  I found  dis 
note  — an’  den  — well, 
den,  you  see,  we  couldn’t 
give  de  kid  de  t’row- 
down.” 


He  passed  the  note  around, 
and  the  others  read : 

“Dear  Santy  Claus  i hav 
been  a good  girl  all  yeer  an  i 
kno  you  will  come  but  benny  an 
freddy  they  say  you  wont  becos 
we  are  too  poor  but  i kno  you 
will  come  an  i want  a dolly  i 
never  had  a dolly  yet  an  i wish 
you  woud  giv  benny  an  freddy 
somthing  too  becos  they  do  be- 
leev  in  you  xcep  they  think  we 
are  too  poor  for  you  to  come 
an  i love  you  R o S E L L e 
SPRiGGins.” 

“ It’s  a better  joke  dan  Je 
odder  way  would  ’a’  been,” 

Shorty  observed,  dipping  his 
face  deep  into  his  glass. 

“An’,  say,”  Big  Bill  re- 
marked, “ if  any  o’  youse  sees 
Spriggins,  tell  him  if  he  hits 
de  booze  or  gets  pinched  dis 
cornin’  year,  I’m  due  to  knock  his  block  off.” 

After  the  delight  and  amazement  had  subsided  to 
some  extent  in  the  home  of  the  Sprigginses  Christmas 
morning,  Roselle  having  awakened  with  the  doll  that 
opened  and  shut  its  eyes  in  her  arms,  and  thereby  being 


LOGIC. 

Jim — “ Say,  Mame,  wot’s  de  reason  everybody  don’t  git 
a present  when  dere’s  so  many  Santy  Clauses  ?” 


convinced  that  she  had  not 
dreamed  it  after  all,  Roselle 
told  her  mother, 

“ Santa  Claus  is  a nice  man, 
mamma — but  he  swears.” 

Had  It  Down  Fine. 

'F'HE  housewife  was  showing 
her  new  chambermaid 
through  the  upstairs,  when  fi- 
nally they  came  to  a staircase 
leading  down  into  the  rear  yard. 

“Mary,”  said  she,  stepping 
out  on  the  landing,  “ whenever 
you  wish  to  pass  down  to  the 
back  yard  go  down  this  way.” 
Just  then  the  speaker  slipped 
and  was  precipitated  with  a 
great  clattering  to  the  bottom. 

“Are  yez  hurt,  mum?” 
cried  the  affrighted  chamber- 
maid, staring  down  from 
above. 

“No;  it’s  nothing,”  came 
the  return  as  the  disheveled 
mistress  rose  to  her  feet,  in  proof. 

“Thin  ye’ve  got  it  down  foine,  mum;  but  th’  job ’s 
too  shtrenuous  fer  me.” 


A BED  of  roses  soon  wears  down  to  the  thorns. 


A FALSE  START. 

“ What  a nice  little  sister  you  have  I What’s  her  name?” 
“ Mike." 


THE  BEAR  SANTA  IN  TEDDY-BEAR  LAND. 


tankard  through  our 
■window  Tuefday  will 
call  for  it  next  week, 
we  will  be  pleafed  to 
return  it.  We  are  hav- 
ing the  pewter  melted 
up  into  ounce  bulletf 
by  the  office  boy,  and  af 
foon  af  we  get  them 
we  will  pay  off  feveral 
old  fcoref. 

The  edition  thif 
week  if  delayed  while 
a meffenger  could  go 
after  more  ink.  A 
paffle  of  ignorant  Sen- 
eca Indianf  broke  into 
the  print  fhop  Thurf- 
day  night  and  took  our 
ink  for  war  paint.  If 
the  black -faced  trucu- 
lent incubufef  are  on 
the  war  path  looking 
for  trouble,  they  can 


HANDICAPPED. 

“ Gee ! how  I wisht  I had  an  educa- 
tion. I want  to  write  to  Santa  Claus  fer 
an  air-gun  and  an  automobile  and  1 can’t 
spell  ’em.” 

r 


GIVING  THEM  NOTICE. 

The  teller — “ Before  you  draw  any  money  we  require  that  you 
give  us  a month’s  notice.” 

The  cook — “ A moonth’s  notice  is  ut  ? Are  yez  thinkin'  av  git- 
tin’  some  wan  in  me  place?” 

Looking  Backward. 

IT  IS  now  quite  the  thing  to  run  “ looking-backward  ’’ 
columns  in  newspapers  containing  “ newsie  ” items 
from  the  files  of  the  paper  dating  back  into  the  mel- 
low shadowland  of  the  long  ago.  We  desire  to  be  con- 
sidered eclat  in  this  matter,  so  our  city  editor  has  laid 
down  his  facile  and  trenchant  pen  long  enough  to  clip  the 
following  “ locals  ” from  the  pages  of  this  paper,  dated 
February  22d,  1770: 

A tall  Indian  from  Johnftown  Hall  ftole  a jug  of 
apple-jack  from  under  our  fanctum-table  Friday  after- 
noon. That  new  gun  we  took  on  adv.  from  the  Queenf’ 
Armf  Co.  of  Bofton  don’t  fhoot  worth  a cuff. 

Van  der  Bogert  of  the  Evening  Twinkler  took  a pot 
fhot  at  uf  on  Frog  Alley  laft  evening.  Van  ought  to  get 
a globe  fight  fcrewed  on  hif  nofe,  then  maybe  he  could 
hit  Van  Flyck’f  Ifland  on  a Calm  Day. 

If  the  perfon  who  left  a bundle  of  beaver 
fkinf  at  our  door  will  drop  in  and  make  himfelf 
known,  we  will  credit  him  up  on  the  bookf. 

Tim  Murphy  if  the  boff  hunter  of  the  fea- 
fon  fo  far.  Monday  he  bagged  a Mingo  and 
two  Cayugaf.  Come  on,  ye  Nimrodf ! 

The  Village  Fatherf  have  decided  that 
12  feet  if  wide  enough  for  the  new  ftreetf.  “Come 


find  about  897  gallonf  of  it  by  taking  the  River  Trail  eaft 
to  Cow-Horn  Creek  and  rapping  on  the  firft  office  door  to 
the  left. 

A young  feller  named  Geo.  Wafhington  f topped  at  the 
Freeman  Inn  laft  night  on  hif  way  to  Ft.  Stanwix.  Geo. 
if  a good  mixer,  and  if  it  wafn’t  for  fome  pretty  fteep 
ftories  he  told  during  the  evening  we  could  predict  quite 
a future  for  him. 

Yefterday  afternoon  Walt.  Butler  of  Johnfton  Hall 
burft  into  thif  office  about  a minute  ahead  of  a fit,  and 
reluctantly  paying  hif  bill  ftopped  hif  paper.  He  don’t 
like  our  “ taxation  without  reprefentation  ” editorialf. 
If  the  Devil  had  not  miflaid  our  Tory  Club,  he 
would  have  miffed  hif  appetite  for  feveral  other  worldly 
thingf. 

DON  CAMERON  SHAFER. 


If  the  perfon  who  threw  an  empty  pewter  the  best  Yule-log  ever. 


YULE-LOG  IN  BUGVILLE. 

Billy.  Hurry  up  and  help  me  carry  it.  This  cigarette  will  make 


/ 


HER  UNDERSTANDING  OF  IT. 


Christmas  Extravagance. 

((  OUT  next  year  we  won’t  buy  so  much,”  I think  I 
O hear  you  say. 

You  bought  the  doll  for  Marguerite,  the  tricycle  for  May, 

The  sled  for  little  Abraham,  the  carving  tools  for  Joe, 

The  set  of  furs  for  Geraldine— she’s  nearly  grown,  you 
know ; 

The  Christmas  tree  you  had  to  have  because  of  Baby  Jule, 

Whose  wond’ring  eyes  had  never  gazed  upon  a previous 
Yule. 

You  had  to  buy  a lot  this  year,  you  couldn’t  help  yourself ; 

But  next  year  you’ll  be  wiser  far  and  save  your  hard- 
earned  pelf. 

Of  course  you  will ; w7hy,  certainly.  But  do  you  not  recall 

December,  naughty-six,  when  you  proclaimed  to  one  and 
all 

That  in  the  future  you  would  be  immeasurably  discreeter? 

You  sang  this  song  in  various  tunes  and  every  sort  of 
metre. 

And  back  at  Christmas,  naughty-five,  it  was  the  same — 
remember? 

You’d  quit  this  lavish  giving  ere  the  following  December. 

And  so,  although,  of  course,  you  mean  exactly  what  you 
say, 

I’d  like  to  place  a bet  or  two  about  next  Christmas  Day. 

Go  on  and  lie,  oh,  brother  mine,  about  your  liberality ! 

Swear  you’ll  be  stingy  after  this,  and  swear  it  with 
finality. 

Thank  heaven,  you’ve  a heart  within  that  never  skips  a 
throb, 

But  always,  as  the  slangsters  say,  is  strictly  “ on  the 
job.” 

Thank  heaven,  there  are  things  in  which  your  judgment 
doesn’t  rule, 

And  that  it  loses  aye  its  grip  upon  the  eve  of  Yule ! 

Of  course  your  giving’s  out  of  all  proportion  to  your  store, 

But  love  and  sweet  self-sacrifice  are  twins  forevermore. 

STRICKLAND  W.  GILLI  LAN. 


INVITED  OUT. 

“ How  did  her  father  treat  you  ?” 

“ Quite  warmly.  He  invited  me  out.” 

“ Indeed !” 

“ Yes.  He  said,  ‘ Come  outside,  where  there’ll  be  no  danger 
of  smashing  the  furniture.’  ” 


f f f 

f.  im  pr 


What  Broke  Him. 

IIIGGINS  had  acquired  a habit  that  he  found  hard  tc 
**  break.  It  came  from  desk-work  in  an  office  where 
there  was  little  to  do  and  none  too  much  to  pay.  He  had 
torn  a piece  of  paper  from  a tab  and  rolled  and  unrolled 
it  between  the  thumb  and  forefinger  for  so  many  years 
that  he  found  it  hard  to  think  without  this  accompani- 
ment. Try  as  he  would,  he  could  not  break  himself  of 
the  habit,  and  finally  gave  up  in  despair. 

One  day,  while  on  the 
street,  a weighty  mat- 
ter kept  troubling  him, 
but  he  found  it  impos- 
sible to  think  clearly. 
Unconsciously  putting 
his  fingers  into  his  vest- 
pocket,  they  came  in 
contact  with  a ten-dollar 
bill.  It  was  all  the 
money  he  had  left  from 
the  last  month’s  salary. 
Taking  out  the  bill,  he 
rolled  and  unrolled  it 
while  thinking  out  the 
problem.  At  the  con- 
clusion he  carelessly 
tore  the  bill  into  bits, 
as  he  had  always  dis- 
posed of  his  roll  of  pa- 
per, and  tossed  them  in- 
to the  gutter.  And  that 
broke  him. 

J.  B.  VANDA  WORKER. 


WHERE  EXTREMES  MEET. 

Lew  Longlochs — “ Oh,  sir,  won’t  you  kindly  give  me  a paltry  fifteen  cents  that  I may  make  myself  a 
Christmas  present  of  a much-needed  hair-cut?” 

Mr.  P.aldhead — “ No,  sir ! decidedly  not.  I’ll  have  you  understand  I’m  saving  all  of  nvy  dough  to 
make  myself  a Christmas  present  of  a much-needed  wig.” 


^AflLL  the  conductor 
” ^ on  the  airship  ex- 
press shout,  ‘‘Leap 
lively,  please”? 


A SUPERFLUOUS  SAINT. 


Titewad  Gives  Way  to  an  Impulse 

By  Strickland  W.  Gillilan 


WITHOUT  it  was  snowing. 

It  was  snowing  also  with. 

But  within  all  was  comfort  and  expensiveness. 
The  wild  wind  whirled  the  sharp  flakes  against  the 
shutters  and  howled  dismally  and  profanely.  Occasion- 
ally from  the  street  came  the  sound  of  horses’  hoofs  thud- 
thudding in  front  of  a rumbling  hansom  or  coach,  the 
very  sound  telling  its  own  story  of  discomfort  and  haste 
to  escape  the  storm.  Oh,  it  was  cold,  all  right,  and 
blustery,  and  if  this  part  of  it  is  clear  in  your  mind  and 
if  you  will  promise  to  try  to  keep  it  in  mind,  I’ll  agree 
not  to  describe  it  any  further. 

I just  wanted  to  make  it  plain,  that’s  all. 

Inside  the  house  sat  an  old  man,  slippered  and  gowned. 
Of  course  he  was  inside.  He  wouldn’t  have  been 
dressed  that  way  out  of  doors.  He  sat  by  a fire,  which 
was  also  in  the  house,  and  toasted  his  shins  in  the 
friendly  flame.  Not  right  in  the  flame,  you  understand, 
but  in  the  vicinity.  He  sat  and  thought.  He  sat 
slightly  more  than  he  thought,  just  as  in  our  daily  busi- 
ness we  frequently  lie  m'ore  than  we  think.  But  he 
thought  a good  deal.  He  thought  of  several  good  deals 
he  had  made  in  the  past  few  days,  and  of  some  others  he 
would  make  within  the  next  few  days  if  the  other  fellow 
wasn’t  looking. 

His  thoughts  traveled  back  to  his  youth.  They  had  a 
pass  and  could  travel  that  way  as  far  as  they  liked  with- 
out expense.  Otherwise  he  would  not  have  let  them 
travel.  For  old  Titewad  (and  it  was  none  other!)  had 
all  the  other  stingy  people  you  have  ever  heard  of  backed 
precipitately  off  the  planks.  He  drew  closer  to  the  fire 
and  took  a lump  of  coal,  extinguished  it,  and  put  it  back 
in  the  scuttle  for  use  to-morrow. 

He  remembered,  with  a start,  that  it  was  Christmas 
Eve.  First  he  had  started 
with  a thought,  and  ended  by 
thinking  with  a start. 

Thus  do  things  reverse 
themselves  in  life. 

Remembering  that  it  was 
Christmas  Eve  made  him  also 
remember  that  it  was  the 
twenty-fourth  of  the  month, 
and  uneasiness  seemed  to  take 
possession  of  him.  He  arose 
and  paced  the  floor.  As  he 
paced  he  was  racked  with 
emotion.  Pacing  and  racking 
are  almost  synonymous  as 
racing  terms. 

Back  and  forth  went  the  old 
man,  his  slippered  heels  beat- 
ing a tattoo  on  the  floor.  The 
old  chap  would  beat  anybody 
or  anything,  even  a tattoo. 

My  goodness ! What  a bad 
man  he  was  I 


Finally  he  opened  the  shutter.  He  shuddered  as  Le 
saw  the  swirling  snow  and  heard  the  shrieking  of  the 
wind. 

It  was  just  terrible  cold. 

Then  he  closed  the  shutter  with  a shudder,  also  with 
his  right  hand.  I guess  he  had  the  shudder  in  his  hand 
when  he  closed  the  shutter  with  it.  That  must  have 
been  the  way  it  was. 

He  went  and  put  on  his  heavy  shoes  and  donned  his 
fur  overcoat.  He  pushed  an  electric  button  to  call  his 
coachman,  and  soon  he  Sarahed  forth  into  the  night.  I 
would  have  said  sallied  forth,  only  I’m  not  sufficiently 
familiar  with  the  term  to  use  its  nickname.  He  gave  a 
brief  and  gruff  order  to  his  coachman,  and  away  they 
whirled  through  the  storm.  What  were  the  thoughts 
that  had  come  unbidden  to  the  mind  of  the  old  man  as  he 
sat  by  the  fire  in  his  cozy  room?  He  had  been  thinking 
of  a widow  who  lived  in  a lonely  spot  in  the  suburbs  and 
washed  for  a living  and  other  folks.  It  was  the  thought 
of  her  on  this  Christmas  Eve  that  had  sent  him  out  into 
the  night.  He  knew  she  was  not  likely  to  be  home  in 
the  daytime. 

Reaching  the  place,  he  sprang  out  of  his  carriage 
and  rapped  at  the  door.  A feeble  voice  answered  his 
rap.  It  was  the  right  kind  of  weather,  and  a good  time 
of  night,  for  any  one  to  be  wrapped  up,  but  not  rapped 
up.  Finally  she  came  shuddering  to  the  door. 

“ I have  come  for  the  rent,”  said  the  old  man. 

% 

Foolosophy. 

/I  WATCHED  pot  sometimes  boils  over. 

4 The  man  who  hates  his  paymaster  worst  is  the 

man  who  works  for  himself. 

Some  of  us  would  be  glad  to  be  walled  in  on  Wall 
Street. 

The  only  men  who  lose 
their  credit  are  those  who 
never  had  any. 

Most  of  our  smiles  are 
empty  because  the  world  is 
full  of  trouble. 

When  money  comes  in  at 
the  door  love  goes  over  to  see 
the  neighbors. 

If  angels  have  wings  some 
of  us  will  need  our  airships 
buried  with  us. 

A woman  is  always  a wom- 
an, but  a cigar  is  often  rope. 

Didst  ever  see  a man  who 
could  look  intelligent  whilst 
shaving  his  upper  lip? 

Did  you  ever  notice  how 
few  men  there  are  who  will 
sneak  up  quietly  behind  your 
back  and  put  money  in  your 
pocket?  ROBERT  CARLTON  BROWN. 


RIGHT  IN  LINE. 

“ There’s  one  good  thing  about  living  in  this  place.  Santa 
Claut  can  hardly  give  us  the  go-by  I” 


A HARD  JOB. 

ALTHOUGH  Mr.  Jones  was  taken  at  his  face  value 

* * by  his  son  and  heir,  there  were  times  when  the 
youthful  William’s  admiring  tributes  embarrassed  his 
parent  in  the  family  group. 

“ I had  quite  an  encounter  as  I came  home  to-night,” 
the  valorous  Mr.  Jones  announced  at  the  tea  table. 
“ Two  men,  slightly  intoxicated,  were  having  a quarrel 
on  the  corner.  As  usual,  there  was  no  policeman  in 
right,  and  they  were  in  a fair  way  to  knock  each  other’s 
brains  out  when  I stepped  between  and  separated  them.” 
“ Weren’t  you  afraid,  father?”  asked  Mrs.  Jones,  in 
a quavering  voice. 

“ No,  indeed.  Why  should  I be?”  inquired  Mr.  Jones, 
inflating  his  chest. 

“ I guess  there  isn’t  anybody  could  knock  any  brains 
out  of  my  father!”  said  Willie  proudly. 

G.  Havis  Tempel,  Bayou  Sara,  La. 

LARCENY  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS. 

A YOUNG  Irishman,  desirous  of  working  his  passage 

* " to  America,  applied  to  the  captain  of  a sailing  ves- 
sel for  a berth.  Upon  being  told  to  get  a recommenda- 
tion, he  secured  the  necessary  paper,  and  was  duly  in- 
stalled as  a member  of  the  ship’s  crew. 

As  the  ship  was  about  to  sail,  the  captain  found  they 
were  one  hand  short,  and  wishing  to  take  advantage  of 
the  flood  tide,  took  a German  sailor  from  the  wharf  and 
gave  him  the  job. 

This  angered  the  Irishman,  who  kept  his  eye  open  for 
a chance  to  get  even.  One  day,  while  the  German  was 
cleaning  the  deck  with  a bucket  and  brush,  a huge  wave 


came  aboard  and  carried  the  German  away,  bucket  and 
brush  and  all. 

The  Irishman  was  an  interested  spectator,  and  running 
down  to  the  captain’s  cabin,  he  rapped  sharply  on  the 
door. 

“ Well,”  said  the  captain,  wondering  what  was  up, 
“ what’s  the  matter?” 

“ Sa-ay,”  replied  the  Irishman,  “ whin  I came  aboord 
this  ship  ye  made  me  git  a ricommendation,  didn’t  ye?” 
“ I did,”  said  the  captain.  “ What  of  it?” 

“ Ye  didn’t  make  that  Dutchman  git  one,  did  ye?” 

“ No,”  said  the  captain;  “ I didn’t.” 

“ Well,”  yelled  the  Irishman  excitedly,  “he’s  gone 
awa’  wit’  yer  bucket.” 

Allison  G.  Crandall,  Kansas  City,  Mo 

LIFTING  THE  HAT. 

A-  YOUNG  man,  not  wishing  to  do  anything  that  was 
not  agreeable  to  the  laws  of  etiquette,  sent  the 
following  question  to  the  editor  of  a Kansas  paper, 
“ Please  tell  me  when  and  where  are,  or  is,  the  correct 
time  for  a gentleman  to  lift  or  remove  his  hat?”  And 
here  is  the  reply  he  received . 

“ Without  consulting  authorities  of  etiquette — in 
fact,  giving  it  to  you  offhand,  so  to  speak — we  should 
say  at  the  following  times  and  on  the  following  occasions 
respectively  the  hat  should  be  removed  or  lifted  as  cir- 
cumstances indicate:  When  mopping  the  brow,  when 
taking  a bath,  when  eating,  when  going  to  bed,  when 
taking  up  a collection,  when  having  the  hair  trimmed. 


H.  Steeb,  Pittsburgh,  Pa. 


AN  APT  COMPARISON. 

A HAUGHTY  English  girl  was  attending  a cele- 
& * bration  in  a Canadian  town,  where  both  the 
English  and  American  flags  were  displayed.  As 
they  floated  before  the  breeze  peacefully,  side  by 
side,  this  proud  little  “Johnny  Bull”  exclaimed 
in  disdain, 

“ Oh,  what  a silly-looking  rag  the  American 
flag  is  ! It  reminds  me  of  nothing  so  much  as  that 
cheap  striped  candy  you  sell  in  your  stores.” 

“Yes,”  replied  an  American  girl,  who  was 
standing  near  by ; “ the  kind  that  makes  everybody 
sick  who  tries  to  lick  it.” 

R.  F.  Abeel,  Banksville,  Pa. 

INSULTED  HIM. 

IN  EXTREMELY  learned  young  lady,'  while 
® * reading  her  book,  had  fallen  off  a sharp  cliff, 
and  lay  injured  and  helpless  on  the  sands  below. 
Finally,  in  answer  to  her  cries,  she  saw  the  form 
of  a fisherman  advancing  cautiously  over  the  cliff, 
with  a rope  in  his  hand,  to  her  rescue.  She 
clasped  her  hands  and  exclaimed  fervently, 

“ At  last  some  succor  has  arrived  !” 

The  fisherman  turned  and  eyed  her  indignantly 
for  a moment,  and  then  yelled  down  to  her, 

“ It’s  a sucker  I am,  is  it?  Well,  you  can  stay 
just  where  you  are!” 

Ethel  Denney,  Somerville,  Mass. 


THE  PROTECTING  CLOUDS. 

“ What ! fishing  instead  of  attending  Sunday  school  ? Don’t  you 
know  the  Lord  looks  down  and  sees  everything  you  do  ? 

“Yep;  but  he  can’t  see  nothin’  to-day — it’s  too  cloudy. 


An  Etching. 

UfE  SAT  at  his  desk  by  the  window, 
**  pen  in  hand. 

Perhaps  he  was  meditating  a vast 
epic — a story  in  which  he  might  recount 
in  stately  measures  the  wonderful  his- 
tory of  his  country — the  noble  deeds  of 
its  generals  and  admirals,  the  accom- 
plishments of  its  scientists,  the  progress 
of  its  citizens  toward  universal  enlight- 
enment. 

And  he  sat  at  his  desk  by  the  window, 
pen  in  hand. 

Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  inditing  a 
passionate  epistle  to  his  lady-love  — a 
tale  of  the  joy  that  thrilled  him  when 
he  thought  of  her- — a descant  on  her 
beauty,  her  graces,  her  amiability,  her 
condescension. 

And  he  sat  at  his  desk  by  the  win- 
dow, pen  in  hand. 

Perhaps  he  had  some  musical  score 
in  his  mind — a sonata  that  would  rival 
Bach  or  Beethoven,  a nocturne  that 
would  out-Chopin  Chopin,  a melodious 
opera  that  would  vie  with  Verdi  or 
Meyerbeer,  or  a bouffe  that  would  out- 
jingle  Offenbach. 

And  he  sat  at  his  desk  by  the  win- 
dow, pen  in  hand. 

Perhaps  he  was  going  over  in  his 
mind  a play — the  great  American  play 
for  which  the  world  has  been  so  long 
waiting,  or  a drama  that  would  reach 
nigh  unto  Jjhakespeare,  or  something 
in  which  there  dwelt  the  fame  of  a Sheri- 
dan or  a Boucicault. 

And  he  sat  at  his  desk  by  the  win- 
dow, pen  in  hand. 

And  perhaps  he  was  (and  the  truth  is 
he  really  was)  just  thinking  what  he 
could  write  to  his  tailor  in  answer  to  the 


IN  GLASS  HOUSES. 

“ We  drove  down  to  the  Battery  yesterday,  and,  my  dear  girl,  you  should 
have  seen  the  freak  clothes  some  of  those  poor  immigrants  landed  in.” 


cruel  man’s  fifth  demand  for  the  settlement  of  his  bill,  when  he  had  not  a sou  to  pay  for 
a beer  and  thereby  win  the  concomitant  in  the  shape  of  the  free  lunch  he  was  so  sorely 
in  need  of! 

And  so  he  sat  at  his  desk  by  the  window,  pen  in  hand ! 


NATHAN  M.  LEVY. 


Said  in  Passing. 

PEAK  about  sloppiness  in  women  ! there’s  a first-class  example  across  the  street,” 
grunted  the  woman-hater,  pointing  to  a woman  passing  opposite  them.  “ See 

how  she  holds  one  side  of  her  skirts  up  above  her 
knees  and  lets  the  other  drag  along  in  the  mud. 
That’s  a sloppy  woman,  that  is!” 

“ I’ll  speak  to  her  about  it,”  quietly  annexed 
his  companion. 

“Eh!  You  know  her?” 

‘‘Yes.  She’s  my  wife.” 


THE  ENGAGED  ONES. 

“ We  need  look  no  farther,  dearest  Can  you  imagine  a sweller  tree 
than  this  one  in  which  to  build  our  nest  in  the  spring?' 


¥T  IS  significant  that  if  the  octopus  were  dressy 
* it  would  need  a “ coat  of  arms.”  So  also  do 
the  families  that  thrive  on  trusts. 


His  One  Error. 

¥ ITTLE  CHARLEY  had  been  given  a dollar  to  spend 
for  Christmas  according  to  his  own  ideas.  A whole 
dollar  was  a liberal  allowance  when  the  circumstances  of 
Charley’s  family  were  fully  considered.  So  on  the  morn- 
ing after  he  had  done  his  shopping  he  was  asked  by  his 
father  to  give  an  account  of  the  dispensation  of  his 
wealth. 

“Well,”  said  Charley  thoughtfully,  “I  spent  ten 
, cents  for  candy,  ten  cents  for  more  candy,  ten  cents  for 
peanuts,  ten  cents  at  the  ’lectric  theatre,  and  ten  cents 
more  at  the  ’lectric  theatre  another  day  when  I took 
Eddie  Brown  in  with  me.” 

“ That’s  fifty  of  it,”  commented  his  father,  who  had 
been  keeping  count  on  his  fingers.  “ Go  ahead.” 

“Then  I matched  dimes  with  Eddie  after  the  show, 
an’  he  got  all  I had  left  but  one.” 

“Yes,  and  that  one,  ” prompted  his  father.  “You 
have  it  yet,  I suppose?” 

“ No,  I ain’t,”  said  Charley. 

“ But  what  became  of  it?”  persisted  his  father. 

After  a profound  study  of  a few  moments,  Charley 
answered, 

“ I dono,  paw;  but  it  may  be  that  I spent  just  that 
one  ten  cents  foolishly,  somehow.” 

The  Latest. 


44  ¥’VE  just  taken  offices  in  a New  York  skyscraper.” 
^ “ What  stratum?” 


IN  LUCK. 


“ How  did  Santa  Claus  treat  ye  this  year  ?” 

“ Fust  rate.  Jeff  Colson  brought  back  that  gun  he  borrowed,  I found 
my  old  jack-knife  in  the  woodshed,  my  taxes  wuz  redooced  four  dollars, 
an'  Aunt  Eliza  wrote  to  say  she  couldn  t visit  us. 


When  Experts  Disagree. 

NINE  men  had  reached  a ripe  old  age. 

And  yet  were  hearty,  hale  and  strong. 
Each  offered  an  opinion  sage 

Of  how  he  chanced  to  live  so  long. 

“I’m  eighty-one,”  the  first  one  said; 

“ I live  on  veg’tables  and  bread. 

But  had  I eaten  meat  instead 

I’d  now  be  numbered  with  the  dead.” 

“ Tut,  tut,  my  friend!”  the  second  cried. 

“ Why,  meat’s  the  food  to  put  inside 
To  make  you  strong. 

I’ve  tried  it  fourscore  years  and  two. 

Just  notice  how  it’s  pulled  me  through. 

Your  views  are  wrong.” 

“ It  doesn’t  matter  what  I eat,” 

Spoke  up  the  man  of  eighty-three. 

“ What  keeps  me  well  I’ll  gladly  tell — 

No  liquor  ever  entered  me!” 

“ Excuse  my  smile,”  said  number  four, 

And  from  a flask  they  watched  him  pour 
A half  a glass  and  then  some  more. 

“ I’m  eighty-five,  and  can’t  see  why 
A man  should  boast  of  being  dry. 

Well,  as  for  me,  I’d  rather  die.” 

“ Tobacco  hastens  death,  I ween,” 

Said  number  five.  “ You’ve  never  seen 
A pipe,  cigar  or  cigarette 
Between  my  teeth;  and  you  can  bet 
That’s  why  I’m  neither  fat  nor  lean.” 

“ I’ve  smoked  in  childhood,  youth  and  age!” 
Exclaimed  the  sixth,  a wise  old  sage. 

“ I’m  eighty-seven,  and  I say 
It’s  smoke  that  keeps  me  up  to-day.” 

“ The  reason  for  my  many  years,” 

Explained  a grandsire  gray, 

“ Is  my  good  wife,  who  always  cheers 
Me  on  life’s  troubled  way.” 

“ I cannot  see 
How  that  can  be,” 

Cried  number  eight.  “ I have  no  wife* 

I’ve  heard  it  said 
That  getting  wed 

Would  greatly  shorten  up  one’s  life.” 

Then  rose  the  last.  All  turned  to  hear 
“ I’ve  listened  to  your  theories  queer. 

Excuse  me  if  I disagree 

With  every  one;  but  then,  you  see. 

I’m  older  than  the  rest,  and  so 
You  must  admit  I ought  to  know. 

I eat  meat,  veg’tables  and  fish; 

I drink  and  smoke  whene’er  I wish. 

I married  once,  survived  my  wife, 

And  still  find  pleasure  in  this  life. 

You  want  to  know  the  reason  why? 

You  give  it  up?  Well,  so  do  I!” 

WILLIAM  GANSON  ROSE. 

Preparing'  the  Way. 

Catsone — “ Didn’t  I see  you  proposing  to  that  Boston 
girl?” 

Gebhart — “ Not  exactly;  I was  just  breaking  the  ice.” 

The  Logic  of  It. 

Happyman — “ This  great  man’s  biography  says  that 
he  never  owed  any  man  a cent.” 

Cynic — “ Does  it  state  why  he  never  married?” 


Extracts  from  an  Intense  “ Nature- 

Faker’s  ” Forthcoming  Book. 

(Trackers’  Testimony,  Cowboys’  Corroborations,  Cop- 
per-colored Confessions,  and  Aboriginal  Affidavits  fur- 
nished on  application.) 

THE  APE. 

Suddenly  I came  upon  an  Ape  comfortably 

seated  on  the  top  rung  of  a sausage-tree.  To  my  surprise 
he  was  reading  one  of  Darwin’s  books  on  “ Evolution.” 
(Six  Indian  affidavits  go  with  this.  Be  sure  you  get 
them  all.) 

— ^ THE  JAGUAR. 

Trailing  a jaggy  Jaguar  through  the  dense 

foliage,  I saw  him  creep  to  the  sandy  beach  of  the  river. 
There  he  picked  up  a sharp  clam-shell  and,  retreating  to 
a secluded  spot,  he  began  to  cut  the  wag  out  of  his  tail. 

THE  SWORDFISH  AND  THE  LEOPARD. 

One  day,  while  rambling  through  the  jungle, 

I stumbled  over  a sleeping  Leopard.  Although  my  heavy 
shoes  humped  roughly  against  the  quadruped,  it  did  not 
arouse  him.  I thought  this  a splendid  opportunity  to 
study  this  feline  beast  at  close  range ; so  concealing  my- 
self behind  a nixsuch  bush,  I scrutinized  the  animal 
before  me  from  his  jowls  to  his  joints.  Suddenly  I saw 
a Swordfish  leap  out  of  the  near-by  river,  and,  wiggling 
to  the  Leopard,  he  sawed  the  animal  right  in  half.  Hav- 
ing committed  this  dastardly  deed,  he  wiggled  back  into 
the  water  again.  The  Leopard  presently  awoke  and 
commenced  to  stretch  himself.  Then  he  found  that  his 
hind  legs  and  tail  went  in  one  direction,  while  his  head 
and  fore  legs  chased  a bird  in  the  opposite  direction.  I 
did  not  think  this  case  interesting  enough  to  follow  it 
and  study  it,  so  I walked  away  laughing  at  the  thought 
that  one-half  of  that  Leopard  doesn’t  know  how  the  other 
half  lives.  r. 


A GOOD  BLUFF. 

Billie — “ You’s  got  an  orful  dirty  foice, 

Jimmie.” 

Jimmie — “ Say  nothin’-— l's  jollyin’  my 
goil  I s got  an  autimobile.” 

carry  me.  I was  cognizant,  however,  that  the  reptile 
was  gaining  on  me.  At  last  I could  feel  its  hot  breath. 
I felt  its  boneless  body  curl  about  my  feet,  tripping  me 
up  and  bringing  me  to  the  ground  with  a painful  thud. 
In  an  instant  its  tail  was  about  my  wrists,  apd  I was 
pinioned  as  with  a pair  of  handcuffs;  then,  with  its  head, 
the  reptile  went  through  every  pocket  in  my  garments, 
taking  all  my  money  and  other  valuables.  Later  I 
learned  that  the  Boa  gave  my  money  to  an  outlaw,  who 
was  thus  enabled  to  buy  a ticket  and  flee  the  country. 
The  Boa  had  befriended  this  man  for  a year.  (Indian 
affidavits  will  be  furnished  With  this  yarn  at  two  dollars 


THE 

A large 

Onward  and  onward 


BOA-CONSTRICTOR. 

Boa-constrictor  was  chasing  me. 
I ran  as  fast  as  my  bow-legs  could 


per  aff.) 


TIME’S  CHANGES. 


THE  LION. 

I lay  quietly  in  ambush,  though  I must  confess 
it  was  the  first  time  I 
ever  lay  in  ambush  with 
such  a hard  mattress. 
Suddenly  I saw  a bushy- 
...  haired  Lion  walk  over  to 
-a  pool  that  reflected  his 
grim  visage.  Looking 
about  and  seeing  no  one 
watching  him,  he  pulled 
a comb  and  brush  from 
his  back  -pocket,  and, 
looking  into  the 
watery  mirror,  he 
smoothed  out  his  un- 
kempt hair,  and,  after 
parting  it  in  the  mid- 
dle, he  hurried  over 
to  a group  of  lionesses 
who  were  holding  a 
social  howlfest. 


The  first  Christmas  shopping  after  they  were  wed. 

5 


Their  Christmas  shopping  some  years  later. 


F.  P.  P1TZER. 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  A LOST  AND  FOUND  FIVE-DOLLAR  BILL. 


4.  Hubby — “Maybe  we  won  t enjoy  out  Christmas  5.  Hubby — “Why,  ho!  ho!  dear,  you  look  worried.  6.  Mary — “You  found  the  five  dollars  I lost! 
dinner.  Oh,  no!  That  was  a lucky  find.  Cheer  up!  See  what  I’ve  got  for  you  for  Christmas.”  Hubby — “ And  we  get  no  dinner  I 

Mary — “ Oh,  thank  you,  dear,  but — I — I — went 
out-t-t-to-day  and  1 — 1 lost  the  five  dollars  you  gave  me.” 


Disinterested  Professional  Advice. 

« O RING  me  that  beefsteak  potpie  ” 

“ Yassah,”  said  the  dining-car  waiter,  listening 

near  by. 

“ And  bring  me  some  of  those  French  peas  ” 

“ Yassah;  but,  boss,  maybe  you-all  don’t  know  dey’s 
French  peas  in  dat  pie.” 

“ No,  I didn’t.  Thanks,  George.  And — ah — and — 

ah,  then  bring  me  some  potatoes  ” 

“Yassah,  boss;  but  maybe  you-all  didn’t  know  dey’s 
’tatehs,  too,  in  dat  pie.” 


“ No,  I didn’t.  Thanks  again, 
George.  It’s  mighty  nice  of  you 
to  keep  me  from  buying  a lot  of 
stuff  I wouldn’t  want.” 

“ Yassah,  Ah  reckon  it’smahty 
nice  o’  me  t’  do  dat,  boss.  Ah’s 
seen  so  many,  m-a-n-y  people — 
nice  gem-mens,  lak  you-all — was’e 
money  fo’  veg’tables  dat  might  jus’ 
as  well  ’a’  been  handed  oveh  to  th’ 
waiteh.  Yassah,  Ah  sho’  has.” 

A Close  Call. 

<i  tlOW  many  buckets  of  water 
**  in  the  sea?”  thundered 
the  king  for  the  final  question. 

“ Two,  my  lord,”  answered  the 
trembling  peasant,  “ if  the  buck- 
ets be  big  enough.” 

“ By  the  pawn  checks  on  my 
crown,  thou  hast  saved  thy  miser- 
able life  with  thy  ready  answers !” 
mused  the  king.  “ But  now  I wish  I had  asked  thee 
why  the  huge  vases  of  red-and-blue  liquors  in  the  drug- 
store windows.” 

Realizing  how  close  he  had  been  to  death,  the  peasant 
stammered  his  thanks  and  fled  from  the  castle. 

Then  They  Killed  Him. 

t<  1^0,”  said  the  offensive  punster:  “ a girl  who  per- 
sists  in  hailing  men  can’t  be  a reigning  belle. 
She’ll  meet  a good  many  frosts,  and  soon  find  her  name 
under  a cloud.  It  won’t  dew.” 


GOOD  UNDERSTANDING. 

i Sister' s beau — “ With  your  little  feet,  I'm  afraid  Santa  Claus  won’t  be  able  to  get  much  into  your  stocking.” 
Mabel — “ I’ve  thought  of  that,  and  1 was  just  wishing  you’d  lend  me  one  of  yours.” 


Some  Unwritten  Letters. 


FROM  WILLIE. 

DEAR  Auntie  Jane : Ma  says  I’ve  got 
To  write  and  thank  you  now  for 
what 

You  sent  me — that  old  handkerchief! 
But,  darn  it  all!  I’d  just  as  lief 
Have  not  had  nothin’.  Ain’t  no  fun 
In  handkerchiefs!  I’d  like  a gun. 


FROM  ALICIA. 

Dear  Mr.  Spoons:  I write  in  haste 
To  say  your  gift  showed  wretched  taste. 
Of  course  I must  enthuse,  et  cet., 
Because  you  may  be  useful  yet. 

But  have  you  neither  ears  nor  eyes, 

To  send  a thing  that  I despise? 


FROM  pastor. 

Dear  Brethren,  Sisters:  I’m  aware 
That  is  a very  handsome  chair. 

My  thanks  are  due  you,  I suppose, 

For  such  a gift — but  goodness  knows 
I rather  more  content  would  be 
Had  you  but  paid  my  salary. 

EDWIN  L.  SABIN. 

Argument  Pro  and  Con. 

He — “ I’ve  caught  you  under  the  mis- 
tletoe.” 

She — “ If  you  kiss  me,  I’ll  scream.” 
He — “ But  if  you  scream,  the  people 
will  hear  you.” 

She— “ And  if  I don’t  scream,  how 
will  they  know  I’ve  been  kissed?” 


TuiUI  H - fiun  <.k_  • 


When  Nerve  Meets  Nerve 


66  crp=^  ATHER-IN-LAW,” 

he  began,  as  he  en- 
tered the  library, 
where  old  Money- 
bags sat  reading 
the  paper,  “ father- 
in-law,  I— I — want- 
ed to — to  ” 

“ What  ails  you 
now?”  growled  the 
old  billionaire,  as 
he  scowled  over  the 
top  of  his  paper. 
“ If  you’ve  got  anything  to  say,  why  don’t  you  say  it  like 
a man?” 

“I — I wanted  to — to  say,”  he  stammered,  “that 
your  daughter,  Maude — that  is,  my  wife — is — is  very 
anxious  for  a — a Christmas  present,  sir.” 

“ Well,  can  you  blame  her?” 

'“Oh,  no,  sir;  but  the — -the  fact  is,  sir,  she — she  is 


very  anxious  for  a diamond  necklace  she — she  saw  in  a 
j-jewelry  store  the  other  d-day,  sir.” 

‘‘Humph!  I told  Maude  when  she  was  howling 
around  here  for  you  a couple  of  years  ago  that  she’d  get 
no  more  presents  out  of  me.  Well,  what  about  the  neck- 
lace, anyway?” 

“ I — I thought  that  we — we  might  get  it  for  her,  sir.” 
“ We!”  thundered  old  Moneybags,  in  a way  that  lifted 
the  son-in-law  off  his  feet. 

“ Y-yes,  sir.  The  necklace  is— is  only  ten  thousand 
dollars,  sir,  and  I can  spare  five  dollars  toward  it.” 

For  a few  moments  the  billionaire  did  not  speak. 
Then  he  burst  out  into  a roar  of  laughter  that  fairly 
shook  the  house,  and  as  he  laid  his  paper  aside  and 
reached  for  his  check-book,  he  chuckled, 

“ My  boy,  when  Maude  set  her  heart  on  you  I called 
her  an  idiot  and  said  she  hadn’t  brains  enough  to  last 
her  over  night;  but  I take  it  all  back.  She  did  see 
something  in  you,  after  all.  Why,  with  your  cast-iron 
nerve,  it’s  dollars  to  doughnuts  that  you’ll  some  day  be 
a billionaire  yourself,  and  a credit  to  the 
family.  Here’s  the  price  of  the  necklace, 
my  boy,  and  you  can  keep  your  five  dollars 
for  popcorn  and  cigarettes.” 


FISH  DAY. 

Mamie — “ Why  is  your  mother  going  to  take  us  to  the  Aquarium  instead  of  to 
the  Zoo,  as  she  promised 

Ethel — “ Because  it’s  Friday,  stupid! 


THE  average  trust  would  rather  pay 
$100,000  to  hush  up  legislatures 
than  pay  thirty  cents  in  legitimate  taxes. 


FIFTEEN  POUNDS. 

But — he  used  Brother  Bill’s  fish-scales. 


By  Will  S.  Gidley 


IT  WAS  early  in  the  spring  of  a year  recently  num- 
bered with  the  bygones  that  a dapper  gentleman, 
with  a restless  eye  (or  a pair  of  them,  to  be  exact) 
and  bright  auburn  locks  that  fell  in  a rippling  cas- 
cade over  his  velvet  coat  collar,  dawned  like  a stray 
sunburst  upon  the  bustling  Western  city  known  to  fame 
as  Boomopolis. 

Jauntily  alighting  from  the  decorated  and  beplushed 
Pullman  in  which  he  had  luxuriously  journeyed  thither, 
via  the  Sunset  Limited,  the  gentleman  with  the  aureole 
carelessly  flipped  a shining  coin  of  the  realm  to  the 
smilingly  solicitous  Senegambian  who  had  transferred 
his  luggage  to  the  nearest  hack,  then  swinging  himself 
aboard  the  waiting  vehicle,  he  gave  the  crisp  and  busi- 
nesslike order, 

“ Hotel — best  in  the  place!” 

“Sure  Mike!”  responded  Jehu,  with  equal  senten- 
tiousness, and  then  as  he  started  his  horse  off  on  a trot, 
he  added  to  himself,  “ By  cripes ! if  I haven’t  caught 
old  Paddywhiskers  or  some  other  dad-binged  piany- 
thumper  or  fiddler  this  time,  then  1 miss  my  guess!” 
But,  though  this  seemed  like  a reasonably  safe  bet- 
ting proposition,  it  turned  out  that  this  conclusion  of 
the  hack  driver  was  erroneous. 


His  passenger  was  not  the  world-renowned  Professor 
Paderewski,  nor  even  a less  exalted  musical  genius. 

“ Professor  ” he  was,  indeed,  but  not  a professor  of 
the  divine  art  of  melody. 

His  sign  manual,  as  it  appeared  on  the  register  of 
the  Hotel  Metropole,  loomed  up  as  follows : 

“ Professor  J.  Rushmore  Snodgrass,  T.  H.  D.,  etc. 

Boston,  U.  S.  A.” 

On  the  morning  following  the  arrival  in  Boomopolis 
of  the  picturesque  and  ornate  gentleman  above  de- 
scribed, there  appeared,  in  a conspicuous  position  in  the 
advertising  columns  of  the  daily  newspapers  of  the 
town,  the  following  peculiarly  worded  announcement: 


The  first  red-haired  man  in  all  history 
was  Samson — Samson  the  Mighty ! 

He  slew  wild  beasts  and  Philistines,  and 
carried  everything  before  him — until  he  patron- 
ized a female  barber! 

The  all-conquering  Saxon  had  aurora-borealis 
hair;  that  is  why  he  conquered! 

We  shall  have  something  more  to  say  about 
red  hair  ! 

N.  B.  Watch  this  space  ! 


THE  VERY  IDEA! 

“ There  was  a great  deal  of  excitement  down  at  the  Press  Club  last  night*” 
“ What  was  the  matter  ?” 

'*  A newspaper  man  joined.” 


DISPROVED. 

“ Don’t  you  think  a horseshoe  is  a 
sign  of  good  luck  ? ” 

“ Not  fer  me.  Every  duraed  horse 
I ever  bet  on  wore  shoes." 


On  the  succeeding 
day  those  whose  curiosi- 
ty led  them  to  look  for 
the  advertisement  or  its 
successor  were  greeted 
by  the  following : 


The  man  with  red 

HAIR  is  a HUMAN 
DYNAMO ! 

Alexander  the 
Great  had  red  hair ! 
Napoleon  ditto ! 
So  did  George 
Washington  ! 
MORAL : 

Be  a “ bricktop”  ! 
N.  B.  Watch  this 
space  ! 


One  more  revolution 
of  the  earth  on  its  axis, 
and  Boomopolis  awoke 
to  find  a new  chapter  added  to  the  red-hair  propaganda : 


If  you  have  red  hair,  rejoice ! the  world  is 
yours ! 

The  “ BRICKTOPS  ” are  coming  into  their 
own! 

Don’t  despair  or  commit  suicide  if  you  are 
not  a Titian  blond ; wait  and  see  the  Professor  ! 

N.B.  Watch  this  space  / 


The  fourth  day  produced  die  following : 


Marc  Antony  and  Mark  Twain  both  had 
sunset  locks;  both  made  their  mark  in  the 
world  1 

Go  thou  and  do  likewise! 

If  Nature  has  denied  you  the  boon  of  red 
hair,  there  is  yet  hope  for  you  1 

See  and  hear  Professor  J.  R e S ss, 

the  Human  Dynamo!  He  has  a message  for 
you! 

N.  B.  Watch  this  space  ! 

On  the  fifth  day  the  modest  “professor”  threw  off 
all  disguise  and  stepped  forth  into  the  limelight  as  fol- 
lows: 

TO-NIGHT!  TO-NIGHT! 

DON’T  MISS  IT! 

A Discourse  for  Men  Only! 

Professor  J.  Rushmore  Snodgrass,  the  Human 
Dynamo  or  Modern  Samson,  will  deliver 
his  world-famous  lecture  on 
THE  MAN  WITH  RED  HAIR— 

THE  DYNAMO  THAT  MOVES  THE  WORLD! 
In  THE  AUDITORIUM  to-night, 
at  8 p.m.  sharp.  MEN  ONLY! 
Admission  free  to  those  with  red  hair ; 
all  others  half  price! 

DON’T  MISS  IT! 

TO-NIGHT  AT  8!  TO-NIGHT  AT  8! 

1 Did  you  say  she  has  a stone-y  look  ?” 

I did.  People  always  speak  of  her  countenance  as  her  facade.” 


WORSE  THAN  THE  BLACK  HAND. 

“ Whata  means  dis  ‘ glad  hand,’  Giovanni  ?” 

“ Eet  is  a beeg  political  society,  Marie.  All  de 
beeg  city  politicians  belonga  to  dat.” 

As  early  as  six-thirty  that  evening  the  first 
stragglers  began  to  gather  at  the  entrance  to 
the  Auditorium,  the  doors  of  which  were  still 
closed. 

At  seven-fifteen  the  entire  street  in  front 
of  the  building  was  filled  from  curb  to  curb 
with  a jostling  throng  of  people,  clamoring  for 
admission. 

When  the  curtain  rose  at  eight  p.  m.,  and 
the  “ Modern  Samson,”  greeted  by  thunders  of 
applause,  advanced  to  the  front  of  the  stage, 
there  was  not  a vacant  seat  visible  anywhere 
in  the  entire  hall. 

In  addition  to  those  who  were  fortunate 
enough  to  obtain  seats,  many  men,  young  and 
old,  were  standing  along  the  side  walls  and  in 
the  space  to  the  rear  of  the  seats. 

It  was,  in  fact,  a record-breaking  audience 
that  had  gathered  for  the  free  intellectual  feast 
promised  by  the  smiling  professor,  or  “ Human 
Dynamo,”  as  he  described  himself,  who  now 
stood  before  them. 

“Friends,”  he  began,  in  easy,  conversa- 
tional tones,  “ in  the  words  of  the  late  Marc 
Antony,  ‘ I am  no  orator  as  Brutus  was,  ’ hence 
if  you  have  come  here  expecting  to  be  treated 
to  an  outpouring  of  eloquence,  you  are  doomed 
to  disappointment.  I am  here  not  to  juggle 
with  figures  of  speech,  but  to  give  you  a few 
plain  facts  in  regard  to  the  red-headed  man — 
the  human  dynamo,  as  I have  named  him,  who 
moves  the  world  and  keeps  the  wheels  of  prog- 
ress, achievement,  and  prosperity  turning  ever 
onward. 

“Look  back  over  the  world’s  history,  and 
you  will  find  the  men  with  red  hair  everywhere 


conspicuous,  looming  up  like  beacon  lights  on  a mountain  top  or 
lighthouses  along  the  seashore,  to  illuminate  the  pathway  of 
mankind  with  their  brilliancy  and  lead  the  torchlight  procession 
of  advancement.  * 

“ As  I have  stated  in  my  preliminary  announcements,  Samson 
of  old,  Alexander  the  Great,  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  George  Wash- 
ington, and  the  two  Marks  all  had  red  hair.  So  did  King  Philip 
of  Macedon,  Julius  Caesar,  Xerxes  the  Great,  Hannibal,  Cyrus, 
Scipio,  Charlemagne,  Oliver  Cromwell,  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
•Lord  Nelson,  Commodore  Farragut,  Pericles,  Copernicus,  Soc- 
rates, Dante,  Shakespeare,  Michael  Angelo,  Sir  Isaac  Newton, 
Benjamin  Franklin,  Herbert  Spencer,  Thomas  A.  Edison,  and 
thousands  of  others  of  the  world’s  greatest  rulers,  warriors, 
poets,  painters,  philosophers,  inventors,  astronomers,  statesmen, 
and  thinkers  in  all  branches  of  human  knowledge  and  discovery. 

“ Most  people,  when  they  read  of  Julius  Csesar  at  the  head  of 
his  legions;  of  Hannibal  crossing  the  Alps  and  swooping  down 
on  his  enemies  like  an  eagle  from  the  clouds;  of  Copernicus 
sitting  up  nights  inventing  the  wonderful  Copernican  system  or 
time-table,  by  which  the  planets  revolve  on  their  axle-trees  and 
are  ever  hurled  onward  through  space  without  colliding  with  each 
other;  of  Benjamin  Franklin  writing  his  ‘Poor  Richard’s  Al- 
manac ’ with  one  hand  and  turning  his  printing  press  with  the 
other;  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  discovering  the  law  of  gravitation — I 
repeat,  most  people,  when  they  read  of  the  achievements  of  these 


NOT  EXPECTED  OF  HIM. 

“So  you  want  a job,  hey?  "Well,  what  did  you  do  at  your  last  place  ? 
“ I didn’t  do  anything.  1 was  the  office-boy. 


great  personages,  do  not  pause  as  they  should  to  wonder 
what  sort  of  looking  men  they  were — whether  they  were 
tall  or  short,  stout  or  thin,  blond  or  brunette. 

“ This,  however,  is  a vastly  important  thing  to  know. 

“ It  is  time  that  people  woke  up  to  the  significance  of 
the  fact  that  the  majority  of  the  world’s  greatest,  men 
have  been  men  with  fiery  polls,  or  at  least  with  hair  of 
some  one  of  the  many  shades  of  red. 

“ Subtract  the  work  accomplished  by  the  man  with 
red  hair  from  the  sum  total  of  human  achievement  and 
progress,  and  nine-tenths  of  the  pages  of  history  would 
be  blank  or  sadly  riddled. 

“ It  is  the  red-headed  man  that  has  done  things  and  is 
still  doing  them ! 

“ Look  around  among  your  own  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances, and  see  if  the  man  with  brick-du^t  or  old-gold 
hair  is  not  invariably  more  successful  in  business,  in 
.politics,  or  in  love  than  his  competitors. 

“ A little  observation  will  show  you  that  such  is  the 
rase.  There  is  no  denying  the  fact  that 
the  cards  of  destiny  are  stacked  in  favor 
of  the  red-headed  man  — - or,  in  other 
words,  the  man  with  red  hair  is  it ! 

“ What  next? 

“ Yes,  gentlemen,  the  question  arises, 

What  next?  Shall  we,  to  whom  nature 
has  unkindly  denied  the  boon  of  red  hair, 
sit  down  with  folded  hands  and  let  the 
‘ bricktops  ’ own  the  earth? 

“For  one,  I say,  No  — a thousand 
times  no  ! Instead  of  meekly  submitting 
to  fate,  rather  let  us  join  the  all-con- 
quering procession  of  red-heads  and  get 
our  share  of  the  good  things  of  the  earth 
as  they  come  along. 

“ You  wouldn’t  think  it  to  look  at  me, 
gentlemen,  but  one  brief  year  ago  I was 
as  seriously  handicapped  by  hirsute  adorn- 
ment of  an  undesirable  hue  as  the  most 
of  you  are  at  present.  But  I called  the 
wonders  of  chemistry  to  my  aid,  and 
after  a few  weeks  of  experimenting  suc- 
ceeded in  perfecting  the  compound  which 


produced  the  flowing  golden  locks  which  now  adorn  my 
head. 

“This  transformation  alone  was  wonderful,  but  this 
was  only  the  beginning  of  the  many  changes  that  were 
to  be  brought  about  through  the  influence  of  that  re- 
markable discovery.  It  colored  my  whole  life  as  well 
as  my  hair.  It  changed  me  from  a pessimist  to  an 
octopus — -I  should  say  an  optimist.  It  lighted  up  my 
pathway  and  pointed  out  the  royal  highway  of  success. 

“It  has  given  me  a sure  foothold  on  the  ladder  of 
prosperity,  and  has  been  literally  worth  thousands  of 
dollars  to  me. 

“ I want  to  see  all  my  fellow-men  benefited  in  the 
same  way,  and  that  is  why  I am  here  to-night,  relating 
the  wondrous  powers  and  virtues  of  Snodgrass’s  Sam- 
sonian  Hair  Renovator.  It  not  only  renovates  and 
brightens  the  hair,  but  renovates  and  brightens  the  brain 
beneath  it. 

“ The  Samsonian  Hair  Renovator  is  simply  priceless. 
It  is  worth  its  weight  in  rubies  to  any  man,  but  I am 
selling  it  at  the  merely  nominal  figure  of  two  dollars  a 
bottle,  and  as  only  one  application  is  necessary  every 
six  weeks,  a bottle  will  last  for  years. 

“ Now,  who  will  have  the  first  bottle  at  two  dollars? 
All  you’ve  got  to  do  is  to  sit  right  still  and  raise  your 
hands,  and  the  ushers  will  pass  through  the  aisles  and 
hand  you  the  bottles  and  take  your  cash.  1 have  only  a 
thousand  bottles  here  to-night,  and  as  there  are  fully 
two  thousand  people  in  the  audience,  some  of  you  are 
bound  to  get  left  in  this  grand  distribution  of  bottled 
optimism  and  prosperity.  Sorry  I haven’t  more  of  it 
with  me,  but  I didn’t  anticipate  such  a magnificent  out- 
pouring, and — ah!  up  go  the  hands  by  the  score  and 
hundreds!  Be  patient,  gentlemen,  and  we  will  get 
around  to  each  one  as  rapidly  as  possible.” 

Several  large  cases  were  carried  to  the  front  of  the 
stage,  and  the  exchange  of  bottles  of  the  Samsonian 


ANOTHER  CASE  FOR  THE  POLICE. 

Mrs.  Hen  Roost — “ What  makes  you  so  restless,  dearie  ?” 

Mr.  Rooster  Roost — “ ’Sh!  sweetheart,  don’t  move  a feather!  We  are  threatened  by 
the  ‘The  Black  Hand.'  " 


Hair  Renovator  for  two-dollar  bills  had  been  rapidly 
proceeding  for  some  minutes,  when  there  was  a sudden 
stir  in  the  back  part  of  the  hall,  and  a late-comer,  a 
big,,  broad-chested  six-footer,  pushed  past  the  door- 
keeper, brushed  aside  the  fringe  of  standees,  and  came 
striding  down  the  centre  aisle  straight  toward  the  stage. 
In  his  haste  he  had  even  forgotten  to  remove  his  hat. 

“ I’ve  run  you  down  at  last,  you  red-headed  swin- 
dler! Just  wait  till  I get  at  you!”  he  shouted,  shaking 
his  fist  at  the  aureoled  “ professor,”  who  was  beamingly 
supervising  the  work  of  exchanging  bottles  of  hair  reno- 
vator for  greenbacks,  which  he  carefully  stowed  away 
in  his  capacious  pockets  as  fast  as  received. 

As  may  readily  be  surmised,  an  interruption  at  this 
moment  was  most  unwelcome.  The  smile  on  the  “ pro- 
fessor’s” face  was  instantly  replaced  by  a frown.  He 
glanced  uneasily  in  the  direction  of  the  newcomer. 

“ Some  of  you  ushers  put  that  man  out!  He’s  either 
drunk  or  crazy ! Put  him  outdoors  and  keep  him  out!” 
he  shouted. 

Two  of  the  ushers  caught  the  six-footer  by  the  shoul- 
ders, but  he  shook  them  off  as  easily  as  a bulldog  dis- 
posing of  two  spaniels,  and  strode  on  up  the  aisle. 

“Crazy  am  I?”  he  roared.  “ Well,  I certainly  was 
crazy  as  a loon  when  I paid  you  two  dollars  for  a bottle 
of  that  villainous  compound  of  yours.  Just  see  what  it 
did  to  my  brain-pan ! Do  you  wonder  that  I keep  my 
hat  on  even  when  I sleep?  Look  at  my  topknot !”  hastily 
snatching  off  his  hat.  “ Beautiful  shade  of  golden  red, 
isn’t  it?  Green,  I call  it — grass  green!  That  is  the 
sickening  spectacle  your  red-headed  hair  renovator  has 
made  of  me!  Think  I like  it?  Imagine  I enjoy  having 
my  roof  look  like  the  seventeenth  of  March  or  the  green 
light  in  front  of  a police  station?” 

By  this  time  the  audience  had  begun  to  sit  up  and 
take  notice.  The  exchange  of  currency  for  the  Snod- 
grass brand  of  hair  renovator  had  suddenly  ceased.  The 
people  who  had  parted  with  their  two-dollar  bills  were  be- 
ginning to  mutter  discontentedly.  It  was  a critical  mo- 
ment. The  “ professor  ” knew  that  to  quell 
the  rising  insurrection  he  must  act  promptly. 

“Call  an  officer,”  he  commanded,  “and 
have  that  man  taken  out  and  put  in  the 
lock-up  where  he  belongs.  He  is  a black- 
mailer. I never  sold  him  a bottle  of  my  ’ ’ 

“ Yes,  you  did,  you  red-headed  Ananias!” 
broke  in  the  verdure-crowned  stranger. 

“ You  sold  me  a bottle  of  it  a month  ago  at 
your  lecture  in  Junction  City.  I followed 
the  directions  on  the  wrapper  for  a week, 
and  then  I caught  sight  of  myself  in  the 
glass,  and  I’ve  been  following  on  your  trail 
ever  since ! 

“ I have  overtaken  you  at  last,  and 
right  here  is  where  we  square  accounts. 

I’m  here  for  the  purpose  of  getting  my  two 
dollars  back,  with  a couple  hundred  plunk- 
ers  on  top  of  it  for  damages,  or  giving  you 
the  all-firedest  and  best-deserved  licking  you 
ever  had  in  your  life.  That’s  what!” 

And  without  further  waste  of  the  flowers 


of  speech  the  gentleman  from  Junction  City  clambem 
upon  the  stage  and  sailed  in. 

Two  minutes  later  a badly-disheveled  individual  with 
close-cropped,  black  hair  emerged  from  the  cyclone  that 
was  in  progress  in  the  centre  of  the  stage,  shot  out  of 
the  rear  entrance  to  the  auditorium,  tumbled  headlong 
into  a waiting  auto-cab,  and  was  rapidly  whirled  away 
in  the  direction  of  the  station. 

“Gentlemen,”  calmly  remarked  the  burly  stranger 
from  Junction  City,  facing  the  audience,  and  holding  up 
in  one  hand  a wig  with  long,  flowing  locks  of  sunset  hue, 
and  in  the  other  a handful  of  greenbacks,  “gentlemen, 
the  modern  Samson  has  been  shorn  as  completely  and  in 
far  less  time  than  Delilah  could  have  done  the  job.  His 
golden  tresses,  it  turns  out,  were  as  fraudulent  as  his 
compound  for  producing  red  hair. 

“ I think  it  likely  we  have  seen  the  last  cf  the  ‘ pro- 
fessor ’ in  this  section  of  the  country.  In  the  haste  of 
his  departure  he  has  left  behind  him  his  handsome  red 
wig  and  a fair-sized  wad  of  greenbacks  that  will  just 
about  pay  my  traveling  expenses  and  day’s  wages  for 
the  time  I’ve  spent  in  running  him  down. 

“I  don’t  know  whose  money  it  was  that  this  ex- 
Samson  was  lugging  around  with  him,  but  if  any  person 
present  thinks  he  has  a better  right  to  the  plunder  than 
I have,  let  him  step  forward  and  present  his  claim,  here 
and  now  before  I leave  this  platform,  or  forever  after 
hold  his  jaw. 

“ Once— twice — three  times,  gentlemen,  are  you  all 
done?  Not  a chirp  from  anybody,  and  the  money  goes 
to  the  man  who  earned  it  by  two  minutes’  honest  toil. 
Good-by,  gentlemen,  I’m  off!” 

And  thrusting  the  handful  of  bills  into  one  pocket, 
and  the  captured  wig  into  another,  the  victor  in  the  re- 
cent personal  discussion  clapped  his  hat  on  over  his 
green-thatched  dome,  sprang  nimbly  from  the  platform, 
and  with  the  stride  of  a conquering  hero  or  a grenadier 
passed  down  the  aisle  and  out  into  the  night,  leaving  an 
admiring  audience  to  follow  suit. 


ONE  WAY  OUT  OF  IT. 

“What  ever  made  you  cut  that  hole  in  your  roof?” 

“ Had  to.  My  wife  objects  to  my  smoking  in  the  house.” 


“The  Bowery  Kid” 


« A rors  dat?  Do  I hang  up  me  stockin’s  on 
W C’ris’mus?”  said  “ the  Bowery  Kid.  ” “Say, 
d’youse  know  I’m  t’irteen,  goin’  on  fifteen, 
an’  kin  lick  anyt’ing  me  size  in  de  ward?  Dis  stockin’ 
bizness  is  all  to  de  merry  fur  kids  an’  goils  wot  ain’t 
got  dere  eddieation  /et,  but  dis  guy  knows  a few  t’ings. 
Dat’s  right. 

“ W’en  I wuz  a kid,  dough,  I uster  hang  up  me 
socks.  Dat  is,  w’en  I had  any  ter  hang  up,  fur  de  old 
lady  alius  t’ought  it  wuz  healt’ier  ter  go  widout  ’em. 
She  said  it  give  de  feet  a chance  ter  grow,  an’  by  de 
looks  uv  mine  she  wuz  dead  right.  Talkin’  uv  feet 
makes  me  t’ink  uv  de  C’ris’mus  de  old  man  got  pinched. 
He  went  in  ter  git  a pair  uv  shoes,  an’  got  inter  a scrap 
wid  de  shoe  clerk.  He  claimed  he  wore  size  tens,  but  de 
clerk  kept  tellin’  him  he  could  take  nines.  Well,  w’en 
dey  wasn’t  lookin’  he  follered  de  advice  an’  did  take 
nines.  In  course  dey  pinched  him — not  de  shoes,  but  de 
cops.  He  give  de  story  in  court  jest  like  I’m  tellin’ 
youse,  an’  it  tickled  de  judge  so  dat  he  only  give  him 
five  days.  Dat’s  right. 

“ But  erbout  hangin’  up  me  socks.  I wuz  a young 
an’  innercent  guy  erbout  nine  w’en  I did  dat  fur  de  last 
time.  I saved  up  me  dough  an’  bought  a pair  uv  stock- 
in’s ’bout  eight  feet  long,  an’  hung  ’em  back  uv  de  stove 
an’  went  ter  bed  dat  C’ris’mus  Eve,  t’inkin’  uv  all  de 
good  t’ings  dear  old  Santa  wuz  goin’  ter  put  in  ’em. 
But  say,  boss,  de  way  dis  kid  got  it  in  de  neck  wuz  orful. 


I heard  sum  one  in  me  room  dat  night,  an’  t’ought  it 
wuz  Santa,  but  it  wuz  de  old  man,  an’  he  took  de  new 
stockin’s  I’d  bought  an’  went  out  an’  soaked  ’em  fur  one 
drink.  Dat’s  right. 

“ Say,  talkin’  uv  C’ris’mus  makes  me  t’ink  uv  de  hard 
luck  uv  me  old  pal.  Dinkey.  Guess  youse  never  met 
Dinkey,  did  youse?  Say,  he  wuz  de  prince  uv  kings, 
dat  guy  wuz.  He  uster  hang  out  in  our  shanty  an’  sleep 
wid  me,  ’cause  he  t’ought  he  wuz  a orphan,  an’  we  uster 
sell  papes  tergeder.  Well,  one  C’ris’mus  Eve  we  wuz 
in  our  bunk,  talkin’  uv  pirates,  w’en  erlong  comes  a guy 
dat  same  night,  an’  claims  he  wuz  Dinkey’s  uncle,  an’ 
had  been  lookin’  fur  him  fur  years.  Poor  Dinkey  had 
to  go  wid  him  an’  live  in  a swell  brownstone  house, 
’cause  his  uncle  wuz  rich,  an’  dey  put  him  in  school,  an’ 
made  him  wear  Sunday  clothes  an’  keep  his  -face  clean 
an’  part  his  hair  every  day.  Wot  luck  some  poor  guys 
do  have!  He  never  harmed  no  one,  did  Dinkey,  an’  yet 
it  wuz  his  luck  dat  a big  stiff  should  come  erlong  an’ 
spoil  his  life.  Jest  as  he  wuz  learnin’  ter  smoke,  too. 
Well,  as  de  old  woman  uster  say  when  she  found  she 
didn’t  have  de  price  uv  a pint,  dis  world  is  full  uv  trou- 
ble, an’  we  all  must  have  a piece  uv  it.  Dat’s  right. 

“Wot!  Is  dis  bill  fur  me,  boss?  Fur  me  C’ris’mus, 
eh?  Hully  gee!  but  I never  had  so  much  dough  all  ter 
once!  How  am  I goin’  ter  blow  it?  Well,  foist  I’m 
goin’  ter  give  de  old  lady  a dollar  on  C’ris’mus  to  git 

some  clothes  an’  a hat  wid.  She  woiks  pretty  hard  over 

\ 


I FAIN  would  indite 

A few  verses  to  Polly. 
Something  clever  and  bright 
1 fain  would  indite 
That  would  cause  her  delight. 

Something  tender,  yet  jolly. 

I fain  would  indite 

A few  verses  to  Polly. 


^ FRAN 


Dear  Polly,  I write — 

But  I’d  rather  caress  you. 
Were  you  only  in  sight ! 

Dear  Polly,  I write — 

I’m  not  satisfied  quite 

With  the  way  I address  you. 
Polly,  darling,  I write, 

But  I’d  rather  caress  you  ! c.  j. 


^ViNSOM 


HE  SPOKE  CARELESSLY. 

Patient — “ Sorry  to  bring  you  all  the  way 
out  here,  doctor.” 

Doctor — “ Oh,  don’t  worry  about  that.  1 
can  see  another  patient  and  kill  two  birds  with 
one  stone.” 


de  wash-tub,  an’  de  only  fun  she  gits  outer  life  is  ter 
dress  up  an’  go  ter  a wake  an’  hear  wot’s  goin’  on  in  de 
neighborhood.  I don’t  know  erbout  de  old  man,  dough. 
Youse  can’t  trust  him  wid  much  coin  on  ercount  uv  dat 
orful  first  uv  his.  I fink  I’ll  blow  him  ter  a necktie, 
even  if  he  don’t  wear  no  shirt  or  collar.  Me  little  sis- 
ter— she’s  four — she  gits  a dozen  bananers  all 
fur  herself,  an’  fur  once  she’ll  git  her  fill  uv 
dem.  In  course  I’ll  giv  her  a doll  an’  sum  od- 
der f ings.  An’  youse  kin  gamble  dat  I don’t 
furgit  me  kid  brudder.  Dere’s  a good  little 
guy  fur  youse!  He’s  been  teasin’ me  to  learn 
him  ter  smoke,  an’  I’ll  git  him  a pipe  an’  sum 
terbacker  on  C’ris’mus,  an’  he’ll  have  de  time 
uv  his  life.  Oh,  youse  kin  bet  I’ll  put  dat 
bill  ter  good  use ! Dat’ s right. 

“ Well,  so-long,  boss.  Any  time  youse 
wants  a guy  licked  youse  send  fur  me,  an’ 
dere’ll  be  nuttin’  to  it  but  one  punch  in  de  jaw. 

T’anks  fur  de  present,  an’  I hopes  yer  have  de 
merriest  kind  uv  a C’ris’mus.  Dat’ s right.” 


“ If  s full  of  them,  declared 
the  salesman.  “ In  the  first 
place,  it  is  guaranteed  to  get  out 
of  order  before  it  has  been  used 
a week.  ” 

“ Is  that  its  most  realistic 
feature?”  inquired  Mrs.  Maitron. 

“ Hardly,”  replied  the  sales- 
man. “ Its  most  realistic  fea- 
ture is  the  diabolical  pleasure 
it  seems  to  take  in  running  over 
the  carpet.” 

A Vague  Idea. 

URING  his  first  visit  to  a 
farm  little  Willie  came  in- 
to the  house,  crying  softly. 

“ What  is  the  matter,  dear?” 
asked  his  mother. 

“ I went  out  to  see  the 
cows,  and  they  didn’t  give  noth- 
ing but  milk,”  sobbed  the  boy. 
“ What  did  you  expect?”  inquired  the  mother. 

‘‘I’m  not  sure  what  I expected,”  replied  Willie; 
“ but,  mother,  where  does  beef-tea  come  from?” 


¥ IGHTNING  never  strikes  twice  in  the  same  place  be- 
cause  the  place  isn’t  there  after  the  first  visit. 


True  to  Its  Kind. 

RS.  MAITRON  wandered  through  the 
mazes  of  the  fascinating  toyshop,  and 
finally  stopped  at  the  counter  which  held  a 
diversified  assortment  of  mechanical  playthings. 

“ I wish  to  see  a toy  for  a boy  of  five  years,  ” 
she  said  to  the  salesman. 

“Something  on  this  order?”  ventured  the 
salesman,  displaying  a shaggy  bear  which 
danced  about  in  fits  and  starts. 

“Oh,  no!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Maitron.  “I 
must  have  something  more  modern.” 

“ How  about  this  toy  automobile?  It’s  a 
remarkable  little  plaything.” 

“Yes;  the  automobile  would  seem  better 
suited  to  my  purpose.  Has  it  any  up-to-date 
features?” 


A SIXTH  SENSE. 

Bobby — “ Sister  must  be  able  to  see  in  the  dark. 

Mother — “ How  so  ?”  ...  . , 

Bobby — “ Because  last  night,  when  she  was  sitting  with  Mr.  Staylate  in  the 
parlor,  1 heard  her  say,  4 Why,  T om,  you  haven  t shaved  1 


The  Drummer’s  Tale 

By  J.  W.  Foley 


THE  REMINISCENT  drummer  sat,  with  his  legs 
crossed,  at  his  ease,  a paper,  half  unfolded,  full 
of  news,  upon  his  knees.  He  heard  them  spin 
their  simple  yarns  of  travel  here  and  there;  tales  of  the 
grip  and  road  they  were— of  rural  bills-of-fare ; of  bills 
of  dry -goods  bought  and  sold ; of  lovelorn  afternoons ; of 
pickles,  crackers,  vinegar;  of  codfish,  beans,  and  prunes. 
And  when  their  little  tales  were  told  he  had  a tale  to  tell 
of  battle  with  unnumbered  foes  and  conflict  fierce  as — 
well: 

“ It  happened  down  in  Panama,”  he  said;  “ the  night 
was  still  and  heavy'  with  a swampy  mist.  I had  no 
heart  to  kill,  but  to  my  tent  I heard  them  come  by  thou- 
sands, fierce  and  bold,  each  with  his  dagger  sharp  and 
keen.  My  blood  ran  icy  cold.  I was  alone — no  friend 
was  near.  I rose  from  out  my  bed  to  grapple  with  this 
horde  of  foes.  Soon  was  I bloody  red  from  half  a hun- 
dred stabs,  I swear;  and  on  they  came,  as  though  the 
gates  of  hell  had  opened  wide  and  every  man  a foe. 

“ One  slipped  upon  me  ere  I knew.  I struck  at  him 
and  missed;  he  drove  his  dagger  to  its  hilt  in  my  re- 
treating wrist.  And  then,  enraged,  I struck  again — the 
lust  of  blood  and  strife  swept  o’er  me  like  a wave,  and  I 
crushed  out  his  vicious  life.  His  body  dropped  there  at 
my  feet;  another  took  his  place,  and  blood  flowed  from 
a thrust  of  his  and  trickled  down  my  face.  But  soon  I had 
him  in  my  hands,  all  blood  and  gory  red — with  one  great 
blow  I crushed  his  skull,  and  he  fell  down  there — dead ! 

“ They  swarmed 
like  fiends  into  my 
tent;  the  dead  were 
laid  so  thick  I 
stepped  on  bodies  as 
I fought.  My  heart 
grew  faint  and  sick  ; 
but,  though  they 
struck  me  blow  on 
blow  and  wounded 
me,  and  hot  they 
pressed  upon  me  for 
my  life,  they  found 
no  mortal  spot. 

There,  in  that  still 
and  tropic  night, 
they  struck  and 
slashed,  and  then, 
with  eye  to  eye  and 
thrust  to  thrust,  we 
struck  and  struck 
again,  until  I 
thought,  with  misted 
eye,  of  home  and 
friends,  to  whom  no 
message  tender  could 
I send,  there  on  the 
brink  of  doom. 

“ One  stole  behind 


me  as  I fought,  his  dagger  sought  my  neck,  but  with 
one  mighty  fist  I struck,  and  left  him  there,  a wreck  of 
bloody  pulp  and  broken  bones ; another  struck  my  throat 
and  missed  my  throbbing  jugular  by  half  an  inch — my 
coat  was  rent  with  gaping  slits  that  told  how  fierce 
they  fought;  my  brow  was  wet  and  red  with  bloody 
froth.  Ah ! I can  see  them  now,  their  ranks  unbroken, 
though  I killed  a,  score  of  them,  but  still  they  pressed 
on  me  from  every  side  to  kill  and  kill  and  kill ! 

“ No  man  will  know  how  many  slain  I laid  about  me 
there ; how  many  eyes  looked  up  at  me  with  fixed  and 
glassy  stare.  So  heavy  fell  my  mighty  hand  that  from 
a blow  alone  full  many  a one  of  them  fell  dead  with  not 
a cry  or  moan.  Ah,  heaven,  it  made  me  deathly  sick ! 
The  night  was  dank  and  hot,  and  over  me  from  head  to 
heels  was  scarce  a place  or  spot  their  daggers  had  not 
pierced  my  flesh;  but,  though  my  blood  ran  free,  I 
had  no  mortal  wound — but  weak,  ah,  weak  as  I could 
be! 

“ But  I escaped,  no  matter  how.  And  I am  here  to 
tell  the  tale  of  that  mad  tropic  night,  but  just  how  many 
fell  I could  not  tell  you  if  I would;  and  often  in  the 
night  I dream  of  it,  and  wake  all  cold  with  a shrill  cry 
of  fright.  I see  them  come,  with  daggers  sharp ; they 
strike  at  me  and  miss;  no  terror  of  my  mortal  days  is 
half  akin  to  this.  For  fierce  they  are  and  know  no 
friend,  and  wild  and  know  no  law,  and  all  the  marshes 
give  them  birth  down  there  in  Panama.” 

Had  Two  Faults. 
VYNCLE  REMUS,  besides  be- 
^ ing  an  inveterate  horse- 
trader,  was  something  of  a 
wag.  One  day,  after  swapping 
a rather  disreputable-looking 
nag,  he  said, 

“Now,  stranger,  I’ll  tell 
yer  fair.  Dat  hoss  hab  got 
two  faults.” 

“And  more,  too,  I guess,” 
assented  the  other.  “ But  what 
are  they?” 

“ Wa-al,  ef  he  gits  out  in  de 
field  he’s  de  hahdes’ 
hoss  ter  ketch  ye 
ever  seed,  an’  when 
yer  ketch  ’im  he  ain’t 
wuth  a cuss.” 

A Loser. 

ti  YJOW  do  you 
know  that 
Mrs.  Rogers  isn’t  go- 
ing to  have  new  furs 
this  winter?” 

“ I played  bridge 
with  her  last  night.” 


FREE  WILL. 

“ Ah’m  told  yo*  Souf  Carolinian  delegates  will  be  uninstracted.  ” 

“ ’Deed,  yas,  sah.  We  am  free  as  air  jes’  so  long  as  we  do  wot  Mistah  Cortelyou 
tells  us." 


“Mariar”  Gets  a Grand  Square 

By  A.  B.  Lewis 


THEY  said  their  name  was  Perkins,  and  that  they 
were  from  Podunkville,  and  they  insisted  on 
shaking  hands  with  the  salesman  in  the  music- 
store  who  came  forward  to  take  their  order. 
Then  the  woman  asked, 

“ Do  you  keep  pianners?” 

“ Well,  a few  of  them,  ma’am,”  smiled  the  salesman, 
with  a wave  of  his  hand  at  the  forty  or  fifty  instruments 
in  plain  sight  around  them. 

“ We’ve  cum  to  buy  Mariar  a pianner  fur  Christmas,” 
announced  the  husband.  “ She’s  our  darter.” 

“ I see,  sir.  Well,  you  couldn’t  present  a young  lady 
with  anything  on  Christmas  that  would  give  her  more 
pleasure.  Something,  too,  that  will  last  a lifetime.” 

“I  ain’t  so  sartin  of  that,”  spoke  up  the  woman 
again.  “ When  I was  a gal  we  bought  a organ  that  the 
man  said  would  last  forever,  but  it  didn’t.  Of  course 
once  the  roof  fell  in  on  it,  and  once  it  got  full  of  rain- 
water— and  then  mebbe  pianners  is  stronger  than  organs. 
Pa  traded  it  fur  a calf  when  it  was  ready  to  fall  to 
pieces,  and  ” 

“ If  you’ll  just  follow  me,  please,  ” broke  in  the  sales- 
man as  he  led  the  way  to  the  back  of  the  store.  “ Now, 
how  would  you  like  a beautiful  instrument  of  this  kind?” 
“ Is  that  a pianner?”  asked  the  man. 


“Yes,  this  is  called  an  upright,  and  it  is  one  of  our 
good  makes.  This  instrument  is  valued  at  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars.  ” 

“Good  lands,  but  I wanter  know!”  ejaculated  the 
man  from  Podunkville,  while  his  wife  was  apparently 
too  astonished  to  express  the  surprise  she  felt.  “ Why, 
great  snakes!  we  kin  git  an  organ  fur  eighteen  dollars 
over  at  Skinner’s  Creek  jest  as  big  as  that,  but  we 
wanted  sunthin  larger.” 

“Oh,  you  are  probably  looking  for  one  of  the  old 
square  make?” 

“ One  of  them  like  you  see  in  the  opery-house.” 

“ I guess  this  is  the  style  you  mean,”  said  the  sales- 
man as  he  led  them  to  another  part  of  the  store. 

“ Yep,  them’s  pianners,”  declared  the  woman  know- 
ingly. “Lands,  but  ain’t  that  one  with  the  big  legs 
purty,  Hezekiah?” 

“ Purty  as  a pictur’ ! What  might  that  one  be  wuth?” 

“ You  can  have  that,  sir,  for  forty  dollars.  You  must 
understand,  though,  that  it’s  a very  old-style  instru- 
ment.” 

“ By  gum,  but  ain’t  she  a bargain!”  exclaimed  the 
old  farmer  as  he  patted  the  clumsy  affair  and  looked  it 
over  admiringly.  “ Ma,  there’s  sum  lumber  in  that 
pianner,  I’m  a-tellin’  you.” 


PERSONAL  ITEM. 

Mr.  Cy  Linder  Bote  has  unexpectedly  returned  to  his  stables  and  the  turf  again. 


“ I never  seen  an  elegants  one.  Hezexiah.” 

The  salesman  walked  away  r short  distance  to  let 
them  talk  it  over,  and  when  he  was  out  of  hearing  the 
woman  whispered, 

“ Hezekiah,  I ain’t  never  done  nothin’  wrong  yit, 
when  I knowed  it  wuz  wrong,  and  I ain’t  goin’  to  begin 
now.” 

“ What  you  drivin’  at,  ma?” 

“ At  this  pianner.  You  don’t  ’spose  a big,  fat  pianner 
this  size  kin  be  sold  fur  forty  dollars,  when  that  skinny 
one  he  fust  showed  us  is  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
do  you?” 

“ It  do  seem  purty  queer.  ” 

“ Why,  of  course  it  do,  Hezekiah,  and  when  the  mis- 
take wuz  diskivered  this  poor  clerk,  who  may  have  a 
large  family  to  keep,  would  be  discharged.  No;  he’s 
got  these  planners  mixed,  and  we  can’t  hev  it  on  our 
conscience.” 

The  matter  was  explained  to 
the  salesman,  and  he  was  given 
every  opportunity  to  correct 
any  mistake  that  had  been 
made,  but  it  was  finally  neces- 
sary to  call  the  proprietor  to 
assure  the  couple  that  they 
could  have  the  larger  piano  for 
the  price  named.  Wben  the 
sale  had  been  made  the  happy 
purchasers  shook  hands  with 
the  salesman  again,  and  as  they 
were  leaving  the  store  the  man 
from  Podunkville  said  to  his 
wife, 

f‘  Great  snakes,  but  only 
forty  dollars  fur  a pianner  that 
will  nigh  fill  the  hull  parler, 
and  lay  over  anythin’  of  the 
xind  in  the  county!  It’s  pun- 
kin  seeds  to  doughnuts  that 
Mariar  will  swoon  right  down 
on  the  floor  when  she  sees 
her  Christmas  present  bein’ 
dragged  into  the  house !” 


Office  Personalities. 

A|'HE  blotter — Retentive ; ab- 
* sorbs  a great  deal. 

The  desk — Receptive,  sym- 
pathetic; likes  to  be  leaned  on. 

The  ink-well  — Extremely 
versatile;  can  write  a wrong 
or  wrong  a write. 

The  scissors — Sarcastic  and 
malicious;  very  cutting  and 
ever  willing  to  separate. 

^ The  paste-pot  — Persistent, 
persevering;  possesses  the  fac- 
ulty of  sticking  to  things. 

The  pen — Enterprising,  am- 
bitious ; ever  waits  for  an  op- 
portunity to  make  its  mark. 

6 


“SNOWIN'  AG’IN,  EH?  WE  NEED  SNOW!” 


The  waste-basket — Intemperate,  aggressive;  fre- 
quently gets  full,  and  is  fond  of  scraps.  * 

The  writing-table — Diminutive,  quiet;  can  easily  be 
covered,  and  always  remains  stationary. 

The  calendar — Contemporaneous,  but  lazy;  always  up 
to  date,  but  frequently  takes  a month  off. 

The  revolving  chair — Retrogressive,  but  philan- 
thropic; goes  backward,  but  is  always  ready  to  do  a 

gOOd  turn.  PERRINE  LAMBERT. 

An  Annoying  Error. 

*¥*HAT  was  a very  annoying  typographical  error  that 
* crept  into  the  papers  the  other  day,  telling  how  a 
prominent  society  man  had  been  held  up  by  highwaymen 
and  “ robbed  of  his  watch  and  other  vegetables.”  The 
editor  has  come  out  with  an  explanation  that  the  last 
word  was  not  vegetables,  but  valuables. 


Useless  Trouble. 

TOMLINSON  had  gone  south  on  busi- 
ness, and  early  one  morning  he  set 
out  to  call  on  a customer  who  lived 
several  miles  from  town.  There  were 
no  transportation  facilities,  and  Tomlin- 
son, after  having  found  that  he  couldn’t 
even  hire  a horse  decided  to  walk.  He 
had  accomplished  a little  more  than  half 
of  his  journey  when  he  arrived  at  the 
bank  of  a river,  where  a robust  negro 
operated  a ferry. 

Dipping  into  his  pockets  for  the  nec- 
essary change,  Tomlinson  discovered  with 
considerable  chagrin  that  he  had  left  his 
money  at  the  hotel.  He  hadn’t  a cent 
with  him.  Assuming  a bold  front,  how- 
ever, he  asked, 

“ Eph,  do  you  take  people  across  the 
river?” 

“Well,  boss,  Ah  reckon  hit  wouldn’ 
do  me  no  good  ter  opehrate  dis  yeh  ferry 
ef  Ah  didn’.” 

“Come,  then;  take  me  over.  I’m  in  a hurry. ” 

“ Ah  on’y  chahges  five  cents.” 

Tomlinson  again  felt  in  all  his  pockets,  and  failing  to 
find  a coin  of  any  kind,  said, 

“ Very  well ; that  will  be  all  right.  I forgot  to  bring 
any  change  with  me;  but  I’ll  pay  you  when  I come  back.” 
“ Ain’t  yo’  all  got  five  cents?” 

“ No;  I forgot  to  bring  my  pocketbook.  But  it  will 
be  all  right — I’ll  pay  you  when  I return.  Come!  I’m  in 
a hurry.” 

“ All  Ah  chahges  is  five  cents.” 

“I  know,”  Tomlinson  impatiently  replied,  again 
searching  his  pockets.  “I  don’t  happen  to  have  the 
change;  but  nevermind  about  that.  I’ll  be  coming  back 
this  way  in  a little  while,  and  I’ll  pay  you  then.” 


SAFETY  IN  THE  SIMPLE  LIFE. 

‘ Aren’t  you  glad,  Birdiana,  that  we  are  simple  folks  ?" 


HOPELESS. 

Now  don’t  ask  me  another  question.  Little  boys  should  not  be  too  inquisitive.’ 
Why  mustn’t  I ask  you  any  more,  daddy  ? And  what’s  inquisitive  P ” 


“ Jes’  five  cents.  Dat’s  all  Ah  eber  chahges  fo’ 
takin’  ennybody  oveh.” 

“ I understand  that  fully;  but  it  will  be  all  right.  I 
must  get  over  immediately.  Hurry,  now!  I can’t  afford 
to  waste  time  listening  to  your  explanations.  I don’t 
object  to  your  price.” 

“ An’  yo’  all  ain’t  got  five  cents?” 

“NO!  NO!  NO!  How  many  times  must  I tell  you 
that  I forgot  to  bring  any  money  with  me?” 

“ Hit’s  on’y  five  cents.” 

“You’ve  told  me  that  a dozen  times.  I’ll  see  that 
you  get  it  when  I return.” 

“ An’  yo'  all  hasn’t  got  five  cents?” 

“ Confound  you!  do  you  suppose  I’d  stand  here  wast- 
ing time  if  I had?  Come,  now;  hurry.  I must  get  over 
there  at  once.” 

“ Well,  boss,  hit  seems  ter  me  dat  a 
man  whut  ain’t  got  five  cents  might  jes’ 
as  well  be  on  one  side  ob  de  ribbeh  as 
de  yutheh.”  s.  e.  kiser. 

The  Nature  of  the  Beast. 

GUNSON  was  entertaining  a 
visitor  when  Nora  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  drawing-room. 

“ Plaise,  mum,  will  yez  tell  me  phat 
yez  want  done  wid  th’  oyster-shells  yez 
left  from  lunch?”  she  inquired. 

“ I want  them  thrown  away,  of 
course,”  replied  Mrs.  Gunson. 

“ Yis,  mum ; but  Oi  didn’t  know  phere 
to  throw  thim,  ” replied  Nora.  “ Do  they 
be  ashes  or  jarbridge?” 

Fashion  Note. 

W AST  year’s  overcoats  are  very  much 
worn. 


A MESSAGE  FROM  THE  SPIRIT  WORLD. 


The  Speediac. 

SPEED,  speed,  speed ! 

What  of  the  things  that  we  read, 

Telling  of  woe  and  of  death  and  disaster? 

Turn  on  the  power!  Ho!  faster  and  faster! 

Over  the  highways,  down  through  the  lane — 

Little  care  we  for  huge  wagons  of  grain. 

Let  us  have  at  ’em,  grind  ’em  to  powder ! 

Honk  with  your  horn,  there,  louder  and  louder! 

Speed ! 

Let  us  have  speed ! 

Ha,  for  the  road  with  the  twist  and  the  curve! 

That  was  a beauty — that  was  a swerve ! 

Straining  the  axles  and  straining  the  wheels, 
Grinding  the  car  till  each  bolt  in  it  squeals — 
Squeals  like  a creature  that’s  griping  in  pain! 

Here  is  another ! Have  at  it  again ! 

Speed ! 

Let  brakes  be  freed ! 

Throw  ’em  away,  for  they  only  impede. 

What  is  that  scream  in  the  distance  we  hear? 

Is  it  in  front  or  far  back  at  the  rear? 

Some  one  is  down,  but  we  are  away, 

Pounding  to  dust  all  the  broad  highway, 

Monarchs  of  all  to  the  uttermost  scene 
Here  in  our  thunderbred  lightning  machine ! 

Speed ! 

Give  us  more  speed ! 

We  have  no  care  for  the  shapeless  that  bleed. 

On  like  the  course  of  the  blustering  wind, 

Careless  of  what  lies  before  or  behind ! 

Breath  of  my  nostrils,  life  to  my  soul, 

.Gliding  and  sliding  past  any  control ! 

OVER  THE  CLIFFS!  Ha!  downward  we  fly- 
iron  scrap,  human  scrap,  we  by  and  by. 

Crashing3  ahead  and  black  ruin  behind. 

One  moment  longer  and — ah,  never  mind ! 

We’ve  done  our  work  and  won  by  a breath 
The  record  in  speeding  the  Highway  to  Death ! 

JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 

Modern  Methods. 

OTHER,  of  course  business  methods  have 
changed,  and  people  do  things  quicker  than 
used  to,  don’t  they?” 


<<  FTER  the  crash,”  imparted 
* * the  first  hospital  surgeon 
to  the  second,  “ I ran  over  to  where 
it  lay  on  the  pavement;  and  when 
I raised  it  up  I saw  at  once  that 
its  ribs  were  smashed,  while  a 

gaping  hole  was  torn  in  its  ” 

“ Pardon  me,  doctor,”  broke  in  the  medical  student, 
who  had  caught  these  words  as  he  was  about  to  pass  by 
into  the  consumptive  ward;  “ but  if  you  have  no  objec- 
tions, I’d  like  to  take  a few  notes  on  that  accident 
case.”  He  pulled  his  notebook  from  his  pocket.  “ Was 
the  case  a child?” 

“No,”  the  surgeon  informed  him,  to  his  embarrass- 
ment. “ I was  speaking  of  my  umbrella.” 


Promptly  Proven. 

She — “ Men  and  women  can’t  be  judged  by  the  same 
standards.  For  instance,  a man  is  known  by  the  com- 
pany he  keeps.  ” 

He — “ And  a woman  by  the  servants  she  can’t  keep.  ” 


\ 


THE  POINT  OF  VIEW. 

Mrs  Hen — " Willie  has  a bad  cold.  I believe  he  got  his  feet 
wet.” 

Dr.  Drake — “ H’m  I Nonsense.  He  may  have  kept  them  too 
warm  and  dry.” 


“Why,  certainly,  dear.” 

“ When  grandma  was  little  and 
ordered  things  from  the  city,  she 
had  to  wait  a long  time  for  them 
to  come,  didn’t  she?” 

“ To  be  sure,  my  dear.  Why 
do  you  ask?” 

“ Well,  I was  thinking  Santa 
Claus  has  adopted  modern  busi- 
ness methods  and  wants  to  be 
sure  his  presents  get  here  on 
time.  I see  he  has  already  stored 
the  things  I asked  for  in  the  old 
cupboard  in  the  storeroom.” 


Not  Well  To  Butt  In. 


A LOVE  AFFAIR. 

TT  WAS  Sunday  afternoon 

and  they  were  strolling 
slowly  along  the  boulevard. 

Suddenly  he  took  her  arm 
lovingly  and  leaned  over,  with 
his  face  close  to  hers. 

“Do  you  love  me?”  he 
whispered. 

She  laughed  merrily,  but 
did  not  answer.  This  seemed 
to  encourage  him,  for,  with  a 
quick  movement,  he  slipped 
his  arm  around  her  waist. 

She  pulled  away  hastily 
and,  w’th  a frown,  said, 

“ Don’t  do  that !” 

He  persisted,  and  she  be- 
came angry. 

“ Don’t  do  that!”  she  re- 
peated. “ What  will  people 
think?  You  act  as  if  you 
were  drunk!  I’ll  turn  around 
and  go  the  other  way  if  you 
don’t  stop.” 

Paying  no  attention  to  her 
protestations,  he  continued 
his  efforts  to  encircle  her 

waist.  Once  he  tried  to  kiss  her,  and  at  each  attempt 
she  became  more  and  more  vehement  in  her  protes- 
tations. 

At  length  the  little  boy  who  was  tagging  along  be- 
hind could  stand  it  no  longer.  With  all  the  force  that 
his  five  short  years  could  muster,  he  exclaimed, 
“ Papa,  I think  it  is  real  mean  to  tease  mamma  that 
way !” 

L.  A.  O’Brien,  Winston-Salem,  N.  C. 


' 


Mabel  (gushingly) — ' 

Katherine — “ Only  ten  cents  an  ounce. 


NOT  EXPENSIVE. 

“ Isn’t  that  faint  tinge  of  gold  in  Sarah’s  hair  perfectly  dear  ?” 


ACCOUNTED  FOR. 

<<  HJV AMMA,”  said  little  Elsie,  “do  men  ever  go  to 


M 


heaven?” 

“ Why,  of  course,  my  dear.  What  makes  you  ask?” 
“Because  I never  see  any  pictures  of  angels  with 
whiskers.” 

“ Well,”  said  the  mother  thoughtfully,  “ some  men  do 
go  to  heaven,  but  they  get  there  by  a close  shave.” 

C.  0.  Reinhold,  Lansdale,  Pa. 


MAKING  UP  FOR  LOST  TIME. 

JAKE  was  a German  carpenter.  With 
his  two  men  he  had  driven  out  to 
work  on  a barn.  It  came  dinner  time, 
and  Jake  and  the  boys  gathered  up  their 
tools  and  hurried  for  the  wagon,  for  a 
big  bank  of  black  clouds  was  gathering. 
Soon  the  rain  was  coming  on  at  a twenty- 
mile-per-hour  gait.  Just  as  they  reached 
the  wagon  the  storm  struck,  but  in  they 
jumped,  expecting  to  make  a run  for 
home.  As  it  happened,  Jake  was  driv- 
ing a speedy  little  mare,  but  she  had  one 
fault — she  would  balk,  and  the  excite- 
ment of  the  situation  put  her  in  mind  of  it. 

“Git  ub!”  said  Jake,  as  the  rain 
streamed  down  in  sheets.  “Gitub!”  And 
he  plied  the  gad,  but  Molly  wouldn’t  move. 

One  of  the  hands  suggested  that  they 
had  better  go  back  to  the  barn  for  shelter, 
but  Jake  answered,"  Nein,  nein;  youshust 
set  shtill.  We  git  heem  shtarted  burty 
soon,  und  then  we  make  ub  for  lost  time.” 
Datus  R.  Jones,  Bowling  Green,  0. 


TOO  GOOD  TO  BE  TRUE. 

The  landlady — “ Look  here!  I’m  tired  of  running  to  you  for  my  rent.  This  is  the  last 
time  I ask  you  for  it.” 

Artist  lodger — “ Good ! Is  that  a promise 


Her  Great  Discovery 

By  A.  B.  Lewis 


it  |^0,  GEORGE,”  she  said,  after  he  had  told  her  the 
old,  old  story;  “ I can  never  be  yours.” 

“ You  love  another!”  he  groaned. 

“ No;  honestly,  I don’t.” 

“ Then  there  is  hope.  Listen  to  me,  Madge.  My 
salary  was  almost  doubled  last  week.” 

“ I am  glad  for  your  sake,  George.” 

“ And  I am  to  be  taken  into  the  business  inside  of  a 
year.” 

“ That’s  lovely,  of  course ; but  ” 

“ And  some  day,  maybe  within  five  or  six  years.  I’ll 
be  worth  a lot  of  money.” 

“Yes,  I know,  George;  but” 

“We  would  live  in  a beautiful  residence  and  have 
servants  and  horses.” 

“ You  talk  like  a fairy  story.  Say  no  more,  George, 
for  ” 

“And  we’ll  have  our  steam  yacht  and  Newport  villa 
and  go  to  Europe  every  spring.” 

“ Five  years  is  a long  time.  You  would  probably  be 
tired  of  me  long  before  that.” 


“ Never!”  he  exclaimed  fervently,  as  he  reached  for 
her  hand.  “I  love  you  as  woman  was  never  loved  be- 
fore. And  another  thing.  Three  months  ago  I plunged 
on  stocks  and  cleared  up  a neat  little  sum.” 

“ Yes,  it’s  very  clever  of  you,  George;  but  ” 

“ I invested  part  of  it  in  an  automobile,  and  the  ma- 
chine will  be  ready  for  us  to  try  to-morrow.” 

“ Oh,  George !” 

“It  is  one  of  those  handsome  big  touring-cars  that 
always  make  your  mouth  water  when  they  fly  by.  My! 
but  it’s  a beauty !” 

For  two  or  three  minutes  she  made  no  reply;  then, 
as  she  returned  the  pressure  of  his  hand,  she  said, 

“ George,  I — I have  just  made  a great  discovery.” 

“ What  is  it,  Madge?”  he  asked. 

“ I — I have  just  discovered  that  you  are  my  affinity.” 

Captious  Criticism. 

it |>ARDON  me,”  said  the  budding  poet  to  the  crabbed 
* editor.  “ May  I inquire  why  you  do  not  wish  to 
accept  my  poems?  Are  the  feet  wrong?” 

“The  feet  are  passable,”  replied  the 
crabbed  editor,  with  some  acerbity,  “ but 
the  poems  are  bow-legged.” 


A North  Pole  Honeymoon. 

I HAVE  a sledge  that’s  filled  with  furs, 
A reindeer  four-in-hand,  sweet  soul. 
To  me  it  happily  occurs 

A honeymoon  at  the  north  pole. 

Where  we  can  be  alone,  my  love, 

And  freeze  together  with  a kiss. 

And  on  the  polar  heights  above 

In  ice-cream  sodas  find  our  bliss. 

Come,  let  my  reindeers  caracole. 

The  runners  of  my  sledge  grow  hot. 
Th’  Ultima  Thule  of  my  soul 

Will  cool  said  runners  like  as  not. 


Ecstatic  gargoyles  of  Jack  Frost 
Adorn  our  icy  little  cot; 

Cold-storage  eggs,  at  half  the  cost. 

We’ll  boil  in  some  stalactite  pot. 

Come,  let  us  freeze  together,  love, 

And  hibernate  like  loving  bears, 

And  squeeze  together  hand  in  glove — 
The  pole  alone  is  free  from  cares. 

WALTER  BEVERLEY  CRANE. 


Poor  Critter! 

it  ¥ HEAR  that  your  husband  is  critically 
^ ill,  Mrs.  Tiff,”  said  Mr.  Gummey. 
“Yes;  he  is.  He  criticises  the  doctor, 
and  he  criticises  the  nurse,  and  he  criticises 
me.  Oh,  he’s  critically  ill  all  right.” 

Grave  Enough. 

it  ¥ATHERE  is  the  centre  of  gravity,  pa?” 
* * “ An  Englishman,  if  there’s  one  in 

the  crowd.” 


INCENTIVE  LACKING. 

“ What  a distinguished-looking  man  Lord  Muttinchoppe  is ! I wonder  if  he  is 
ever  here  looking  for  an  American  wife  >” 

“ Why,  of  course  not!  Didn’t  you  know  he  it  very  wealthy  ?” 


THE  FIRST  TASK. 

His  reverence — “Pat,  Patl  you’re  making  a mistake 
in  teaching  a child  of  such  tender  years  to  smoke  the  pipe.” 

Pat — “ Make  yure  moind  aisy,  father.  ’Tis  not  that 
Ofm  afther  doin’— Oi’m  only  weanin’  th’  little  divil  frum 
th’  bottle,  do  ye  moind  ?” 

That  Was  Different. 

S(  UELLO!” 

11  “Well?” 

“ Is  this  the  gas  company?” 

“Yes.” 

“ My  gas  bill  for  last  month  is  one  dollar  and  fifty 
cents.” 
f Well?” 

.**  That  is  away  off,  and  ” 

“Just  one  moment,  please.” 

/ “Well?” 

“ In  the  first  place,  our  men  who  read  the  meters  are 
not  in  the  habit  of  making  mistakes.” 

“ But,  you  see,  we  ” 

“ We  employ  capable  fellows  who  know  their  busi- 
ness, and  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  a mistake  to  be 
made.  They  turn  in  their  figures  after  a careful  ex- 
amination of  the  meter,  and  a most  competent  office 
force  here  does  the  rest.  If  you  were  charged  one  dollar 
and  fifty  cents  for  gas  last  month,  you  may  be  dead  cer- 
tain that  you  burned  exactly  that  much  and  no  more.” 

“ But  I wanted  to  ” 

“ There  is  no  use  declaring  your  house  has  been  closed 
and  you  have  been  out  of  town.  The  bill  will  have  to  be 
paid  or  we  will  take  out  your  meter.” 

“ Oh,  I’m  perfectly  willing  to  pay  the  dollar  and  fifty 
cents.” 

“ Then  what  are  you  kicking  about?” 

“ And  this  is  not  a kick.” 

“ It  isn’t?” 

“ No.  I merely  wanted  to  state  that  we  burned  gas 
nfgfat  and  day  during  the  month,  owing  to  sickness,  and 


that  the  bill  should  have  been  at  least  ten  dollars.  Of 
course,  if  you  don’t  want  to  correct  it.  I’m  perfectly 
satisfied.  How  about  it?” 

But  the  man  in  the  gas  office  had  collapsed. 

And  He  Did. 

A CERTAIN  college  town  in  the  South  boasts  of  a 
* * bridge  of  privileges.  Students  take  advantage  of 
the  liberty  given  them  through  the  legend,  when  driving 
with  young  lady  visitors  to  cross  the  famous  bridge,  to 
tell  the  story,  and  to  illustrate  it  at  the  propitious 
moment  of  crossing. 

The  story  was  told  recently  that  Mr.  Dubose  was 
driving  with  Miss  Brown.  The  young  lady  ws3  affected 
with  a slight,  though  charming,  lisp.  When  Mr.  Dubose 
had  related  the  legend  of  the  bridge,  he  added,  “And 
now,  Miss  Brown,  when  a fellow  drives  across  with  his 
girl,  he  has  the  undisputed  privilege  of  taking  her  in  his 
arms  and  kissing  her.” 

The  astonished  Miss  Brown  cried,  in  wise  apprehen- 
sion, “ Oh,  Mithter  Duboth!” 

Another  Version. 

AS  THEY  neared  the  land  the  whale  began  to  wail 
**  bitterly. 

“ What  are  you  blubbering  for?”  called  Jonah  from 
the  cabin. 

“Boo-hoo!  You’ve  Jonahed  the  trip,  and  I’ll  have 
to  cough  up  the  missing  profit.” 


ONLY  A RETAILER. 

Boozer  Brown — “ Jest  as  1 antiserpated  I Dey’re  goin’  ter  raise 
de  price  uv  beer  a dollar  a keg.” 

Dull  Dolan — “Hump!  Dat  won’t  feaze  me  in  de  least.  1 
always  buys  mine  by  de  glass.” 


Taming  a Husband 


By  Dwight  Spencer  Anderson 


66  ^W\HESE  potatoes,”  remarked  Charles  to  his  wife 
JL  at  breakfast,  “ are  really  the  most  atrocious 
stuff  I ever  ate.  You  must  have  soaked  them 
in  lard  after  you  fried  them.” 

‘‘My  dear, ” replied  his  wife,  ‘‘you  said  the  same 
thing  to  me  yesterday.  Try  to  think  up  something  new 
to  say  about  the  potatoes  to-morrow,  won’t  you,  dear?” 
‘‘Humph!”  ejaculated  Charles;  ‘‘it’s  the  truth. 
There’s  nothing  reprehensible  in  repeating  the  truth,  is 
there?  The  fact  is,  Mabel,  you  don’t  know  beans  about 
cooking,  and  still  you  try  to  fool  me  into  thinking  you 
do.  That’s  what  I object  to.  Now,  it’s  a very  simple 
matter  to  fry  potatoes  properly.  All  you  have  to  do  is 
to  stick  them  in  a pan  and  put  them  on  the  stove. 
There’s  nothing  very  complex  about  that  operation. 
Why,  you  ought  to  eat  some  of  my  mother’s  potatoes. 
She  knows  how  to  fry  ’em,  I’ll  tell  you  that!” 

‘‘  Charles,  you  must  remember  that  your  mother  is 
an  unusually  good  cook.” 

“ Of  course  she  is!  That’s  just  the  point  I’m  trying 
to  impress  on  you.  Her  potatoes  are  so  crisp  and  brown 
that  a fellow  never  gets  enough  of  them.  Why  don’t 
you  get  her  recipe,  Mabel?” 

“ That’s  an  excellent  suggestion,”  she  replied.  “ I’ll 
’phone  for  it  this  morning.” 

After  he  had  gone  Mabel  called  up  her  mother-in-law 
and  persuaded  her  to  make  a visit  that  afternoon  for  a 
few  minutes.  She  said  she  would  have  to  leave  early, 
in  order  to  get  supper  for  her  family, 
but  Mabel  said  that  would  be  all  right. 

The  two  women  chatted  about  one 
thing  and  another  for  a while,  and  then 
Mabel  suggested  that  Mrs.  Adams  should 
cook  some  potatoes. 

“ Charles  just  dotes  on  your  pota- 
toes,” she  said.  “ He’s  always  speaking 
to  me  about  them,  and  I know  he  would 
be  overjoyed  to  have  them  for  supper.” 

So  Mrs.  Adams  fried  the  potatoes  very 
carefully  and  pridefully,  and  they  were 
placed  in  the  oven  to  keep  warm  until 
Charles  came  home. 

“ As  you  cannot  stay  to  see  your  son,  ” 
said  Mabel  adroitly,  “ won’t  you  write 
him  a little  note  and  say  you  fried  the  po- 
tatoes for  him?  He  will  be  so  pleased !” 

So  Mrs.  Adams  scribbled  the  note  and 
gave  it  to  Mabel.  She  left  immediately 
afterward,  for  she  had  other  potatoes  to 
fry. 

Charles  entered  the  house  that  even- 
ing, tired  and  hungry.  It  had  been  a 
hard  day  for  him  at  the  office.  “ Did 
you  get  that  recipe?”  he  growled. 

‘‘Yes,  dear,”  replied  Ma- 
bel sweetly. 

They  sat  down  for  the 
Jvening  meal. 


Charles  took  one  taste  of  the  potatoes.  “ For  the 
love  of  Moses,  Mabel,  you  don’t  mean  to  tell  me  you 
cooked  these  potatoes  with  mother’s  recipe!” 

“ They  are  fried  exactly  as  your  mother  would  do  it,’’ 
replied  Mabel. 

‘‘Humph!  There’s  a lot  of  difference  in  cooking, 
then.  Why,  these  are  not  so  good  as  we  had  this  morn- 
ing ! They  taste  like  damp  rope  or  sponge  or  something 
equally  indigestible.  You  don’t  expect  me  to  swallow 
this  sort  of  stuff,  and  block  my  circulation  in  an  attempt 
to  force  it  to  assimilate  it,  do  you?” 

“ Not  if  you  do  not  wish  to,  Charles.” 

“ Well,  I certainly  won’t  do  it  of  my  own  choice.  It 
would  be  criminal.  I’m  not  a whale  or  an  ostrich. 
Let’s  go  to  a restaurant  and  get  something  to  eat.” 
Mabel  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  opened  her  little 
writing-desk,  and  returned  with  a note  in  her  hand. 
‘‘Charley,”  she  said,  smiling  sweetly,  ‘‘your  mother 
called  this  afternoon  and  left  a note  for  you.”  She 
handed  it  to  him. 

“ My  dear  son:  Mabel  said  you  always  speak  of  my 
cooking,  and  suggested  that  I fry  some  potatoes  for  sup- 
per to  surprise  you.  I hope  you  will  enjoy  them. 

“Your  Affectionate  Mother.” 

When  he  looked  up  and  his  eyes  met  hers,  she  was 
laughing  and  he  was  looking  very  sheepish. 

“ Won’t  you  have  more  potatoes,  Charley,  dear?” 

“ Yes,”  he  replied;  “ I believe  I will.” 


uV] 


FIVE  CENTS  MORE. 

Conductor  (on  New  York  street-car) — “Well,  I 11  get 
her  in  yet  if  the  whole  durn  thing  busts !" 


The  Ocean  Liner  of  the  Future 

By  Perrine  Lambert 


A FEW  extracts  taken  at  random  from  the  informa- 
**  tion  card  of  the  new  octuple-screw  steamship  De- 
mentia: 

“ The  chief  of  police  and  the  superintendent  of  the. 
detective  bureau  have  offices  on  the  main  deck  of  the 
steamship.  Complaints,  if  any,  of  robberies,  lost  jewels, 
and  general  disturbances  shoub  je  reported  immediately. 
A justice  of  the  peace  is  23n3„antly  on  hand  for  the 
swearing  out  of  warrants.  Hearings  are  held  every 
morning  before  a duly  authorized  magistrate.” 

‘ * The  stock  exchange  is  located  ih  the  main  cabin,  aft  of 
the  dining-salon.  The  latest  quotations  from  London,  New 
York  and  Paris  are  received 
by  ticker.  Wireless  telegraph 
service  is  maintained  between 
the  steamship  and  all  impor- 
tant commercial  centres  in  the 
United  States  and  Europe.” 

, “ The  attention  of  the  pas- 
sengers is  called  to  the  admi- 
rably equipped  department 
store  forward.  The  store  runs 
through  seven  decks,  and  con- 
tains a large  quantity  of  mer- 
chandise of  the  highest  quality. 

The  prices  compare  favorably 
with  those  of  English  and 
American  shops.” 

“ A children’s  circus  is  given 
every  afternoon  on  the  quarter- 
deck aft  of  the  main  salon.  A 
very  pleasing  entertainment  is 
presented,  with  trained  dogs, 
educated  monkeys,  cute  little 
ponies,  and  funny  clowns  as 
the  principal  performers.” 

“Morning  newspapers  may 
be  purchased  from  the  library 
steward  after  seven  a.  m. 

Newspapers  of  the  country  to 
which  the  steamship  is  nearest 
at  the  time  of  publication  are 
always  on  sale.” 

“Passengers  who  desire  to 
have  their  baggage  moved  to 
various  parts  of  the  vessel  will 
find  an  agent  of  Modd’s  Express 
in  the  office  of  the  purser. 

The  automobile  truck  makes 
daily  trips.” 

“ District  messenger  boys, 
commonly  called  ‘ ocean  grey- 
hounds,’ may  be  obtained  any 
hour  of  the  day  or  night.  The 
messenger  office  is  situated  on 
the  hurricane  deck.  ” 

“The  promenade  deck  may 


be  engaged  for  baseball  games,  automobile  races,  balls, 
dances,  weddings,  receptions,  and  parties  in  general.” 

“ Carriage  service  is  maintained  at  all  times.  Rates 
for  vehicle  hire  may  be  had  on  application.  Apply  to 
the  livery  steward.” 

“ Cut  flowers,  fresh  from  the  steamship’s  own  hot- 
houses, may  be  obtained  from  the  decoration  steward.” 

“ The  skating-rink  is  open  to  passengers  from  ten 
a.  m.  until  nine-thirty  p.  m.” 

“ Passengers  desiring  to  leave  the  steamship  in  mid- 
ocean must  notify  the  purser  at  least  three  hours  in  ad- 
vance of  departure.” 


A SHAKESPERIAN  TOUCH. 


“ 1 was  going  to  say  that  I recognized  her  in  spite  of  her  disguise  by  her  turned-up  nose.  But  how 
can  one  say  ‘‘She  has  a turned-up  nose’  and  avoid  such  a commonplace  expression?" 

“ Say  ‘ Her  nose  smells  to  heaven.’  ’’ 


^ ^ H,  DEAR !”  sighed  Mrs.  Irkhard,  as  the  door- 

A W.  bell  rang.  “ I wish  there  were  two  of  me.  ” 
She  was  making  pies,  and  her  hands 
were  covered  with  flour.  Very  reluctant- 
ly she  began  to  wipe  them  and  to  take  off  her  apron. 
Some  of  the  pies  were  already  in  the  oven.  The  doorbell 
rang  again.  Perhaps  the  visitor  would  be  some  one  who 
would  keep  her  too  long,  so  that  the  pies  would  be  burned. 

“I  declare  I wish  I were  half  a dozen!”  she  cried 
aloud  petulantly. 

“ Why  don’t  you  divide  yourself,  then?”  asked  a tiny 
voice  behind  her. 

Mrs.  Irkhard  turned  about  quickly,  and  there,  on  the 
shelf  which  supported  the  kitchen  clock,  she  saw  a little 
lady  in  a green  dress,  who  sat  with  her  brown-stockinged 
ankles  crossed,  swinging  her  feet  idly. 

“ What?”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Irkhard,  in  amazement. 

“ Why  don’t  you  divide  yourself,  I said,”  replied  the 
little  lady,  smiling. 

“ But  how  can  I?”  asked  Mrs.  Irkhard,  much  puzzled 
and  feeling  as  if  she  were  in  a dream. 


The  doorbell  rang  again.  The  impatient  caller  was 
evidently  holding  the  button  in  this  time. 

“Divide  and  multiply  yourself,”  said  the  lady  in 
green.  “ I’ll  show  you  how.” 

All  at  once  she  spread  a pair  of  gauzy  wings  and 
flitted  down  to  the  baking  board.  Mrs.  Irkhard  stood 
and  stared  at  her,  bewildered. 

“ All  you  have  to  do,”  went  on  the  little  lady,  “ is  to 
stand  still  and  say, 

* Twenty  taters  in  a row, 

This  is  how  I make  ’em  grow; 

Oyster  fry  and  oyster  stew, 

I had  rather  be  in  two.’  ” 

And  then,  quick  as  a wink,  there  were  two  little 
ladies  in  green  standing  on  the  baking  board. 

“But,”  they  went  on,  talking  in  concert,  “if  you 
want  to  be  in  three,  all  you  need  to  do  is  to  say,  instead 
of  the  last  two  lines, 

‘ Chicken  pie  and  fricassee, 

I had  rather  be  in  three.’ 


CROSS-SECTION  OF  A BACHELOR’S  HEART.  SHOWING  INDICATIONS 
OF  CHRONIC  CUPIDITY. 


Tbe  Division  and  Multiplication  of  Mrs.  Irkhard 

By  Barr  Moses 


If  you  want  to  be  in  four,  say, 

* Apple  dumpling,  apple  core, 

I had  rather  be  in  four.’ 

F rfive,  say, 

* The  lobster  green  we  boil  alive, 

I had  rather  be  in  five.’ 

And  for  six, 

* Tender  pickles  and  birch  toothpicks, 

I had  rather  be  in  six.’ 

And  six  is  enough  for  any  woman.” 

The  doorbell  rang  again. 

“ * Twenty  taters  in  a row, 

This  is  how  I make  ’em  grow; 

Oyster  fry  and  oyster  stew, 

I had  rather  be  in  two!’  ” 

cried  Mrs.  Irkhard,  in  desperation. 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  There  she  was,  two  of 
her,  standing  side  by  side  and  just  exactly  alike;  but 
the  little  lady  on  the  baking  board  had  vanished. 

With  a sigh  of  relief  one  of  her  went  on  with  the 
baking,  while  the  other  hastily  finished  brushing  the 
flour  from  her  hands  and  untying  her  apron.  Then  this 
second  half  Mrs.  Irkhard  went  to  the  front  door  to  see 
who  was  there. 

When  she  came  back  again  half  an  hour  later  and 
found  that  her  other  self  had  finished  with  the  first 
batch  of  pies  and  had  the  second  well  on  the  way,  she 
was  highly  delighted.  The  two  Mrs.  Irkhards  stood  and 
looked  at  each  other  and  laughed  heartily. 

“ Who  was  it?”  asked  the  kitchen  Mrs.  Irkhard,  after 
a while. 


WASTED  MATERIAL. 

“Speak  louder,  boy;  I’m  a little  deaf.” 

" Gee,  wot’s  de  use  of  all  dem  ears  I” 

“That  old  gossip,  Mrs.  Green,”  answered  the  other 
Mrs.  Irkhard  blithely.  “ Isn’t  it  delightful,  dear,  that 
we  can  say  just  what  we  think  about  folks  to  each  other, 
and  no  danger  of  its  getting  round  to  them  again?  I 
think  it’s  just  fine!” 

“So  do  I,”  said  the  kitchen  Mrs.  Irkhard.  “And 
just  think  of  all  the  things  I — er — I mean  we — no,  I 
mean  I — or,  anyway,  whichever  it  is — we  some- 
how sounds  better — we  can  do  ever  so  many 
things  now  that  we  couldn’t  do  before.  Why, 
we  can  join  all  the  clubs  and  all  of  the  societies, 
and  we  can  attend  every  meeting.  We  can  go 
to  the  theatre  every  evening,  and  at  the  same 
time  stay  at  home  and  take  care  of  baby.” 

The  other  Mrs.  Irkhard  looked  suddenly 
anxious. 

“I  wonder,  dear,”  she  said  thoughtfully, 
“ you — you  don’t  suppose  it  would  make  any 
difference,  do  you  ? There  won’t — won’t  be  two 
babies  now,  will  there?” 

“ He’s  lying  on  my — our  bed  asleep.  We’ll 
go  and  see,”  said  the  kitchen  Mrs.  Irkhard. 

They  tiptoed  softly  into  the  bedroom. 

For  a moment  they  gazed  at  the  bed  in  con- 
sternation. 

“Oh,  dear!”  gasped  one  of  them.  “ He’3 
twins !” 

“ Hush,  dear!  Don’twakehim — them,”  mur- 
mured the  other.  “ When  we  make  ourselves  one 
again,  baby’ll  be  one,  too;  and,  of  course,  now, 
if  he  is  twins,  there’s  two  of  us  to  take  care  of 
him — them.” 

“Doesn’t  he — they  look  too  sweet  for  any- 
thing!” whispered  the  first. 

They  stooped  down  and  kissed  the  sleeping 
baby  or  babies,  whichever  you  may  choose  to 


SUGGESTION  FOR  A LIGHTING  ARRANGEMENT  AT 
THE  ENTRANCE  OF  THE  PANAMA  CANAL. 


ITS  NAME  BELIED  IT. 

Farmer  Cornstalk — “ Wa-al,  I swan ! I’ve  bin  watchin’  thet 
newf singled  contraption  fer  half  an  hour  an’  blamed  if  the  pesky  thing 
hes  moved  yit  1” 

think  the  right  expression,  and  returned  to  the  kitchen. 
Then  an  animated  conversation  ensued,  concerning  the 
number  of  different  things  which  Mrs.  Irkhard  wished 
to  do.  She  discussed  the  matter  with  herself  fully,  and 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  to  do  all  of  the  many  things 
which  suggested  themselves,  it  would  be  handier  to  be 
as  many  as  possible.  The  little  lady  in  green  had  left 
directions  for  dividing  herself  into  six,  but  no  more. 

“ Let’s  say  the  rhyme  for  six!”  exclaimed  one  of  the 
two  Mrs.  lrkhards  impulsively,  at  last. 

“ All  right — let’s!”  agreed  the  other. 

In  coming  to  this  decision  Mrs.  Irkhard  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  about  the  baby. 

The  two  of  her  stood  off,  facing  each  other,  and  re- 
peated the  verse  in  concert: 

“ ‘ Twenty  taters  in  a row, 

This  is  how  I make  ’em  grow ; 

Tender  pickles  and  birch  toothpicks, 

I had  rather  be  in  six.’  ” 

And  immediately  each  of  the  two  Mrs.  lrkhards  be- 
came six  Mrs.  lrkhards,  so  that  there  were  twelve  Mrs. 
lrkhards  in  all. 

“ Oh,  dear!”  they  shrieked,  and  burst  out  laughing. 
“ Do  you  suppose  if  we  said  it  again  we’d  each  change 
into  six  more?” 

And  then,  in  answer  to  their  own  question,  they  re- 
plied, “ Let’s  try  it.” 

Then  they  began  again,  with  little  squeals  of  merri- 
ment: 

“ ‘ Twenty  taters  in  a row, 

This  is  how  I make  ’em  grow ; 

Tender  pickles  and  birch  toothpicks, 

I had  rather  be  in  six.’  ” 

Then  there  was  a jam  which  reminded  Mrs.  Irkhard 
of  bargain  day.  The  kitchen  was  rather  small  for 
■eventy-two  of  her.  Some  of  her  were  already  squeezed 


out  into  the  dining-room,  and  by  common  consent  more 
and  more  kept  going  until  there  was  breathing  room. 
From  the  dining-room  they  penetrated  to  other  parts  of 
the  house.  All  at  once  a cry  of  horror  arose  from  the 
bedroom.  As  many  of  Mrs.  Irkhard  as  could  do  so 
crowded  to  the  bedroom  door. 

The  sight  which  met  their  eyes  was  a startling  one. 
The  bed  was  covered  with  sleeping  infants.  So  was  the 
floor.  There  were  seventy-two  of  them,  all  exactly 
alike. 

The  first  Mrs.  Irkhard  snatched  up  the  nearest  babies 
and  passed  them  out  to  the  other  Mrs.  lrkhards,  until  at 
last  they  were  all  provided  for  and  the  bedroom  was 
empty. 

Just  for  a moment  Mrs.  Irkhard  in  all  of  her  person- 
alities felt  desperate.  She  suddenly  remembered  that 
the  little  lady  in  green  had  left  no  directions,  had  taught 
her  no  magic  words,  for  reducing  herself  to  one  again. 
But  in  numbers  there  is  strength.  Before  long  she 
cheered  up.  She  decided  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  in 
a glorious  reception  for  herself,  in  a sort  of  mothers’ 
congress.  This  enterprise  turned  out  a great  success. 
Probably  never  in  the  history  of  the  world  have  so  many 
ladies  been  gathered  into  one  house  who  were  so  con- 
genial to  each  other.  Never  have  so  many  babies  been 
brought  together  without  exciting  a single  spark  of  jeal- 
ousy, envy,  or  ill-will  in  the  hearts  of  their  mothers. 
Mrs.  Irkhard  found  it  necessary  to  send  out  for  extra 
provisions,  and  she  realized  dimly  that  if  this  thing  kept 


GOOD  PROOF. 

“ You  weren’t  yourself,  uncle,  when  you  came  home  last  night.” 
“Oh,  I must  have  been.  Your  aunt  wouldn’t  have  let  an- 
other man  in.” 


MORE  APPROPRIATE. 


Miss  Inland — “ You  certainly  have  a charming  country-place  here,  and,  of  course,  you  have 
given  it  some  pretty  name  ?" 

Mr.  Bondholder — " Oh,  yes  1 Mrs.  Bondholder  calls  it  ' Idlemoment-by-the-Sea,’  but  I call 
it  by  its  right  name,  * Moneysunk.’  ” 


up  she  would  naturally  be  the  cause  of  a good  deal  of  ex- 
pense to  her  husband ; but  she  did  not  allow  such  reflec- 
tions to  mar  the  hilarity  of  the  occasion. 

About  five  o’clock  that  afternoon  Mr.  Irkhard  tele- 
phoned that  he  would  not  be  home  to  dinner  and  that 
business  would  keep  him  late  at  the  office.  The  Mrs. 
Irkhard  nearest  the  ’phone  when  it  rang  answered  it. 
She  immediately  communicated  the  news 
to  the  rest  of  herself.  She  was  inclined 
to  be  suspicious  in  all  of  her  collective 
personality.  She  argued  the  matter 
with  herself  and  began  to  wonder  what 
John  would  say  when  he  came  home  and 
saw  the  division  and  multiplication 
which  had  taken  place  in  his  household. 

Would  he  understand?  It  did  not  seem 
likely. 

It  was  almost  twelve  o’clock  when 
John  at  last  came.  Seventy-one  Mrs. 

Irkhards  shut  themselves  up  in  the  two 
parlors,  while  the  seventy-second,  who 
happened  to  be  nearest  the  door  when 
John’s  step  was  heard,  awaited  him  in 
the  hall.  She  had  the  baby  in  her  arms. 

So  had  the  others.  He  was  awake  now. 

John  came  in.  Mrs.  Irkhard  kissed 
him  impulsively.  Her  suspicions  were 
confirmed. 

“John,”  she  cried,  “you’ve 
been  ” 

But  she  got  no  further.  The  rest 
of  the  Mrs.  Irkhards,  hearing  her  voice 
and  noting  its  tone  of  reproach,  could 
wait  no  longer.  Those  nearest  flung 
the  parlor  door  open.  They  streamed 
out  into  the  hall.  They  crowded  about 
their  guilty  spouse. 

John  staggered  back  against  the 
front  door  aghast.  From  where  he 
stood  he  could  see  into  both  parlors, 


which,  as  well  as  the  hall, 
seemed  thronged  with  reproachful 
wives.  There  were  seventy-two 
of  them,  all  exactly  alike,  and 
each  of  them  had  a baby  in  her 
arms.  The  babies  were  exactly 
alike,  too.  John  would  have  sworn 
to  the  identity  of  any  given  one 
of  them.  Slowly  he  sank  down 
on  the  umbrella  stand. 

“A — a doctor!’’  he  gasped 
weakly.  “A — a doctor  — a — a 
minister — I — I’ve — I’ve  got  — it 
— it’s  terrible!  I’ll  never  drink 
another  drop  again!  Oh,  oh,  oh!” 
He  passed  his  hand  trembling- 
ly over  his  perspiring  brow.  He 
closed  his  eyes,  opened  them  again, 
closed  them,  and  kept  them  closed. 

Mrs.  Irkhard  had  not  antici- 
pated anything  of  this  kind.  Her 
anger  was  turned  to  sorrow  and  alarm. 

“John,  dear,”  she  began,  in  seventy-two  voices,  and 
tried  to  explain  how  it  was— to  make  him  understand 
that  he  was  not  suffering  any  such  hallucination  as  he 
believed.  But  all  their  efforts  were  in  vain.  John  not 
only  kept  his  eyes  shut,  but  he  stuffed  his  fingers  into 
his  ears. 


THE  TWO  LOVES. 

Cigarette-spirit — “ If  thou  truly  lovest  me  as  well  e s thou  lovest  that  human  sweet- 
heart of  thine,  then  kiss  her,  with  my  breath  still  upon  your  lips.” 


A Definition. 

M ^^HAT  is  the  differ- 
ence  between  pre. 
ferred  and  common 
stock?” 

“ Well,  if  you  buy  the 
common  you  lose  your 
money  right  off,  but  if  you 
buy  preferred  there  is  a 
little  longer  delay  about 
it.” 


Bourbon  Breath. 

Georgia  citizen — “ Cun- 
nel  Bluecork  says  when  the 
South  went  dry,  it  took 
his  breath  away.  ” 

Alabama  citizen  — ‘‘It 
did,  suh;  and  Cunnel  Blue- 
cork  had  been  priding  him- 
self on  that  breath  for  the 
past  twenty  years.” 


A Severe  Sense. 


“THE  DARK  AGES.” 

Just  at  that  moment  the  Mrs.  Irkhards  in  the  hall 
were  attracted  by  a green  object  which  slid  down  the 
banister.  Then  they  saw  that  the  little  lady  was  sitting 
nonchalantly  on  the  edge  of  the  moulding  at  the  top  of 
the  newel  post.  She  held  up  her  hand  for  silence.  They 
crowded  as  close  as  they  could  get,  anxious  and  expect- 
ant. 

“ Angel  food  and  carrots  red, 

It  is  time  to  go  to  bed ; 

Cracker,  biscuit,  cruller,  bun, 

I had  rather  be  in  one,” 

she  said;  then  she  vanished. 

Anxiously,  fervidly  the  seventy-two  Mrs.  Irkhards 
chanted  the  verses  in  concert. 

With  a sigh  of  delight  she  found  herself  reduced  to  one. 

“ John,  ” she  whispered  softly,  kneeling  at  her  hus- 
band’s side,  ‘‘John,  John!” 

Slowly,  hesitatingly  he  pulled  his  fingers  out 
of  his  ears.  Slowly,  hesitatingly  he  opened  his 
eyes.  He  gazed  about  him  distractedly  and  rose 
unsteadily  to  his  feet.  ( . 

“I — I don’t  feel  well,”  he  muttered.  “T—  I 
had  a kind  of  a dizzy  spell.  I felt  so  faint  I had 
to  sit  down  for  fear  of  falling.  I’ve  been  work- 
ing too  hard — I’ve  got  to  stop.” 

‘‘Poor  John!”  murmured  Mrs.  Irkhard  sym- 
pathetically. 

Mere  Bagatelles. 

t(  'I'HE  Joneses  are  living  in  an  automobile 
* now.” 

“ What  have  they  done  with  their  furniture?” 

“ Got  it  with  ’em.  You  know  they  had  always 
kept  house  in  a Harlem  flat.” 

'T'HERE’S  many  a slip  ’twixt  the  editor  and  the 
* contributor. 


Grateful  mother — “ Oh! 
Are  you  the  noble  young 
man  who  rescued  my  daughter  from  a watery  grave  ?” 
Noble  young  man  (who  is  truly  modest) — “ Yes,  mad- 
am; but  I assure  you  I only  did  it  from  a sense  of 
duty.” 

As  to  Toes. 

OH,  goodness  knows 

There’s  toes  and  toes! 

There’s  pinky  toes  on  baby’s  feet, 

And  mistletoes  are  very  sweet. 

The  last  I tried  on  yesternight 

When  Gladys  stood  there  ’neath  the  light; 

And  as  the  smack  resounded  through 
The  house,  oh,  moment  fraught  with  rue! 

I found  to'my  complete  surprise 
Her  father  had  a toe  likewise. 


HORACE  DODD  GASTIT. 


A READY  RECKONER. 

Stranger — “ What  do  you  charge  for  a shave  here  ? 
Barber—' Ten  cents  a foot.” 


No  Fault  of  the 
Cook. 

\AfHILE  visiting 
**  Chicago  re- 
cently, a New  York 
merchant  dropped  in- 
to a restaurant  fa- 
mous for  its  German 
cookery. 

As  the  waiter  was 
serving  the  soup 

% 


THE  URCHINS’  VIEW  Or  A BOSTON  DANCE. 

“ Goth,  Bill  I the  has  got  a naked  neck,  and  talking  to  a man  I” 


Little  Bobby  Criticises. 
A*HRISTMAS  DAY  was  well  along.  Little  Bobby 
had  gone  the  rounds  of  trial  and  inspection  of  the 
many  bounties  the  joyous  time  had  brought  him — edible, 
playable,  and  literary.  And  now  there  seemed  to  be 
scorn  in  his  bearing. 

“ Pa,”  said  he,  “ about  this  Little  Jack  Horner  who 
sat  in  a corner,  eating  a Christmas  pie — huh!  How 
could  he  pull  out  a plum  just  with  his  thumb?  He’d 
have  to  use  his  finger,  too,  wouldn’t  he?” 

“Why,  I don’t  know,  Bobby,  ” replied  Bobby’s  pa. 
“Perhaps.” 

“ And  what  kind  o’  pies  is  pies  with  plums  in  ’em, 
I’d  like  to  know?”  continued  little  Bobby,  incredulity 
and  scorn  increasing.  “Was  it  an  egg  plum  he  pulled 
out,  or  just  one  of  these  little  yellow  ones?” 

“ Oh,  I don’t  know,  Bobby.” 

“ What  kind  of  a kid  was  he,  anyhow,  stickin’  his 
thumb  in  his  pie?  Guess  if  I’d  stick  my  thumb  in  my 
pie  I’d  get  it  whacked,  wouldn’t  I,  pa?” 

“ I think  you  would,  Bobby.” 

“ And  what  was  he  sittin’  ’way  off  in  a corner  for? 
Didn’t  his  folks  have  any  chairs,  pa  ? Or  was 
he  hidin’  ’cause  he  didn’t  want  to  give  his  little  sister 
any  of  his  pie  ?” 

“Where’s  your 
mother,  Bobby?  Go 
ask  her.” 

“ And  him  a-brag- 
gin’  about  what  a 
brave  boy  he  was, 
just  for  pullin’  a 
plum  out  of  a pie! 

Rats!  I wouldn’t  be 
afraid  to  pull  a doz- 
en plums  big  as  my 
new  drum  out  of 
one,  would  I,  pa?” 

“No,  no,  Bobby- 
You  wouldn’t.  Now 
run  along  and  be  a 
real  good  boy.” 

Little  Bobby  said 
he  would,  and  he 
went  out  and  was 
soon  pelting  the  pass- 
ers-by with  hard 
snowballs. 

ED  MOTT. 


from  a chafing  dish,  the  guest  thought  he  caught  the 
glint  of  steel.  He  gave  little  heed  to  the  matter  until 
he  suddenly  found  a large  needle  in  his  spoon.  Sum- 
moning the  steward,  he  held  aloft  the  offending  bit  of 
steel,  and  inquired  angrily, 

“ Do  you  expect  me  to  eat  that,  sir?” 

“ Of  course  not!  What  was  your  order?  ’ 

“Noodle  soup;  but” 

“That  explains  it,  sir,”  interrupted  the  steward. 
“ Just  a typographical  error,  that’s  all.” 

Rubbery. 

A FRUIT-CAKE  which  weighed  just  a lb. 

Came  to  me  as  they  passed  it  arb. 

I accepted  an  oz., 

And,  to  see  if  ’twould  boz., 

Threw  it  down.  It  returned  on  rebb. 

The  Diagnosis. 

/■XLD  Mother  Confidence  lay  gasping  for  breath  by  the 
roadside. 

“Ah,  ha!”  said  the  Liquor  Dealer,  with  a savage 
leer.  “ Too  much  prohibition.” 

“ No,  no!  Too  much  rate  regulation,”  said  the  Rail- 
road Man. 

“Not  enough  adulteration,”  said  the  Food  Manu- 
facturer. 

“ Not  enough  re- 
bates and  too  many 
fines,  ” said  the  Trust 
Magnate. 

“ She  ought  to  be 
protected  by  a bigger 
navy,”  said  the  Ad- 
miral. 

“Nothing  the 
matter  with  her  at 
all,”  said  the  Editor. 

“Not  enough 
laws,”  said  the  Pol- 
itician. 

“ She  needs  a new 
President,”  said  the 
Partisan. 

“Too  much  dope 
and  rascality,”  said 
the  Common  Person, 
who  was  growing  in 
wisdom  as  he  grew 
in  years. 


A Missed  Oppor- 
tunity. 

He  — 11  Why  did 
you  get  so  angry 
when  I kissed  you 
only  once  under  the 
mistletoe?” 

She — “ It  seemed 
to  me  you  were  a man 
who  would  never  take 
full  advantage  of 
your  opportunities.” 


Modesty, 

A LADY  lived  within  our  town, 

So  I have  heard  it  said, 

Who,  if  you  called  her  dress  a gown. 

Would  blush  like  poppies  red. 

Her  mind  was  neither  frail  nor  weak, 

Her  modesty  was  rare; 

Of  autumn  trees  she’d  never  speak 
Because  their  limbs  were  bare. 

When  night  its  sable  shadows  threw, 

She’d  tumble  in  a swoon 
If  curtains  didn’t  hide  from  view 
The  man  up  in  the  moon. 

A plumber  caused  her  death  one  day — 

Or  so  the  story  goes — 

By  asking,  in  a careless  way, 

To  let  him  see  her  hose.  c.  l.  cory. 


Softly  sleep,  slumber  deep; 

God  of  dreams  his  vigil  keep. 

If,  among  his  train,  dream-laden, 
Sweetest  dream  find  sweetest  maiden, 
Swift  a-wing,  it  would  bring 
Smiles  to  thee,  a-slumbering ! 


Night  draws  round  me  like  a shroud, 
All  the  world’s  in  hiding; 

O’er  me,  through  yon  gloomy  cloud, 
Swift  the  moon  is  gliding. 

If  thou  wake  not,  I entreat, 

By  yon  star  above  thee, 

That  the  dream-god  tell  thee,  sweet, 
Half  of  how  I love  thee ! 


Softly  sleep,  slumber  deep; 

God  of  dreams  his  vigil  keep. 
Dream-stars,  watching  o’er  thy  slumber, 
Sing  of  love  in  countless  number, 

Till  their  song,  sweet  and  strong, 
Lingers  with  thee,  all  day  long! 


Clouds  have  hid  each  gleaming  star, 
Darkness  draws  about  me; 
Darker,  sadder,  drearer  far 

Were  my  world  without  thee. 

Lo!  the  last  faint  beams  depart, 
While  my  love  lies  dreaming; 
Night  is  never  in  my  heart 
Where  thy  face  is  beaming. 


The  Valuables. 

'T'HE  MAN  with  a wife  and  seven  children  hauled  up 
* in  front  of  the  hotel  desk,  registered,  got  his  bell- 
boy, and  was  starting  off  when  the  clerk,  thinking  maybe 
he  might  jolly  the  new  arrival,  called  to  him. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  ” he  said,  “ but  hadn’t  you  better 
leave  your  valuables  in  the  safe?” 

“ Do  you  think  I ought  to?”  inquired  the  man  inno- 
cently enough,  to  hear  him  say  it. 

“ Well,  it  is  the  best  plan.” 

“All  right,”  said  the  man;  and  turning  to  his  wife, 


AN  EDUCATIONAL  EPIDEMIC. 

Mother — “ Where  do  you  feel  sick  ?” 

Son — “ On  my  way  to  school.” 

“ Here,  Mary,  pass  the  children  over  to  the  gent  behind 
the  counter.  He’ll  look  after  them  and  give  us  a rest.” 
Whereupon  the  clerk  apologized. 

Serenade  on  Saint  Valentine’s  Eve. 

ERE  the  twilight  died  away, 

Cupid  murmured  o’er  me, 

“ What  thou  dare  not  tell  by  day, 

Night  may  whisper  for  thee!” 

Sweet  thy  slumber,  sweetheart  mine, 

I’d  not  cause  thy  waking, 

If  of  one  brief  dream  of  thine 
I but  had  the  making! 


REMINISCENT. 

Sinks  (on  his  first  trip) — “ It  wasn't  such  a bad  old  world  after  all.” 


Softly  sleep",  slumber  deep ; 

God  of  dreams  his  vigil  keep. 

While  the  stars,  that  twinkle  o’er  thee, 
Fading,  fading  out  before  thee, 

Never  shine,  sweetheart  mine, 

Half  so  bright  as  eyes  of  thine ! 

[ BURGES  JOHNSON. 


The  Supply  of  Husbands  for  Actresses 

By  Thomas  L.  Masson 


QUITE  a number  of  our  prominent  actresses  are  not 
marrying  again  this  year.  There  has  been,  of 
course,  a stringency  in  the  money  market,  which 
would  naturally  lead  our  most  conservative  actresses  to 
curtail  expenses.  At  the  same  time,  after  making  all 
due  allowances  for  this,  the  theatrical  season  has  been 
fairly  good  and  there  seems  no  actual  financial  reason 
for  the  falling  off  in  matrimony,  except  the  shortage  in 
the  supply. 

To  be  the  husband  of  an  actress  requires  a special 
talent,  and  as,  in  every  special  field,  good  men  are  al- 
ways scarce,  there  will  always,  of  course,  be  more  or 
less  anxiety  in  the  search.  Available  material  does  not 
grow  on  every  lamp-post.  Indeed,  the  best  quality  of 
actresses’  husbands  have  to  be  carefully  nurtured  before- 
hand, and  cultivated  for  their  mission  in  life.  Their 
period  of  husbandship  is  comparatively  short.  Of  course 
one  man  possessed  of  a good  constitution  and  a healthy 
ambition  may  be  the  husband  of  several  actresses.  This 
is  counterbalanced,  however,  by  the  fact  that  every 
actress  is  likely  to  require  several  husbands.  The  two 
equalize  each  other.  Actresses’  husbands  are  like  poets 
— bom,  not  made.  They  possess  also  many  of  the  char- 
acteristics of  poets.  Their  temperaments  are  variable. 
They  have  high  tempers,  a certain  (very  necessary) 
power  of  seF  efta^ement,  and  a general  incapacity 
to  support  them- 
selves. Many 
of  them  take 
minor  stage 
parts,  which  en- 
ables them  to 
quarrel  more 
systematically 
with  their  wives 
between  the 
acts. 

It  is  hoped 
that  the  theatri- 
cal trust,  which 
is  coming  more 
and  more  to  reg- 
ulate salaries, 
will  not,  by  here- 
after restricting 
the  pay  of  ac- 
tresses, thus  put 
another  barrier 
in  the  way  of 
their  getting 
husbands.  Every 
actress  ought  to 
be  free  to  mar- 
ry all  the  hus-' 
bands  she  de^ 
sires  at  any 
time.  Only  in 


this  way  is  our’  future  secure.  For,  after  all,  our  home 
life  is  something.  Its  sacred  and  inviolable  traditions 
should  be  maintained  at  any  price. 

Petered  Out. 

OLD  JOHNSON  he  was  versatile. 

Of  that  there  ain’t  no  doubt, 

But  somehow  all  the  schemes  he  laid 
And  all  the  get-rich  plans  he  made 
Were  destined  for  an  early  grave. 

They  petered  out ! 

Bill  started  in  to  build  airships, 

S.  Dumont  he  would  rout. 

But  soon  he  switched  to  motor-boats, 

And  next  week  took  to  raisin’  goats. 

Seems  every  new  project  he  floats 
Just  peters  out! 

Bill  final  takes  up  readin’  law, 

To  be  a legal  tout. 

But  in  ten  days  he’s  keepin’  bees. 

In  one  more  week  it’s  dime  musees. 

Well,  they  all  gets  the  same  disease— 

They  peters  out ! 

Bill  passes  in  his  checks  at  last 

(Appendicitis,  cramps,  and  gout), 

And  murmurs,  “ Tell  the  folks  that  ask 
That  here  is  where  I scores  at  last, 

Unless,  to  crown  me  checkered  past, 


I’m  Petered  out!” 


PAUL,  HANNA. 

News  Item. 

A SCHOLAR 
in  Iole 
wrote  to  the  ed- 
itor of  the  Iole 
Intelligencer  and 
asked  where 
“ cupriferous  ” 
could  be  found. 
The  editor  re- 
plied that  it 
could  be  found 
in  the  diction- 
ary, under  C. 

Appropriate. 

¥N  THE  pres- 
* ent  stringen- 
cy of  the  times 
there  is  fitness 
in  the  recent  ex- 
clamation of  an 
old  colored  wom- 
an— “God  help 
the  rich  ; the 
poor  can  beg.” 


PRECAUTION. 

Criae — ' ! had  two  complete  list*  of  our  wedding-gifts  made 
for  me.” 

Friend — “ What  for  ?” 

Bride — “So  we’ll  each  know  whom  to  ask  next 


-one  for  John  and  one 


A company  is 
**  known  by 
the  men  it 
keeps. 


i 


TRIMMED  BY  A TUNE— A MUSICAL  FANTASY. 


A lucky  the  ught.  He  grabs  a bunch  of  bass-notes,  hard  and  round,  4.  Bang!  Bruin  drops,  his  thinker  full  of  bullet-notes.  He’s  skin ! 

And  drops  ern  m his  blunderbuss  and  rams  ’em  good  and  sound.  The  thing  that  really  killed  him,  friends,  was  rag-time  on  the  brain. 


A Menu  Prophecy 

By  Lurana  IV.  Sheldon 


LAST  night  I sought  a table  d’hote,  and  in  a pensive 
mood 

Regarded  somewhat  curiously  the  nature  of  my 
food. 

Some  sentiment,  I know  not  what,  with  atavistic  trend, 
Had  turned  my  thoughts  to  primal  lives  from  which  we 
all  descend. 

CLAMS!  Ah,  what  memories  here  awoke!  What 
strange  emotions  swelled ! 

Was  I not  of  aquatic  birth?  Monera,  single  celled? 

No  bivalve  should  my  palate  pass ! I scorned  the  lus- 
cious dish ! 

Nor  MACKEREL,  my  one-time  kin ; I could  not  eat  a 
FISH ! • 


FLESH!  Worse  and  worse!  When  in  the  prime  of  pre- 
historic days 

Was  I not  rated  as  a beast  possessed  of  fleshly  ways? 

Bovine,  perhaps,  for  all  I knew,  or  porker  of  that  age. 

Could  I devour  ancestral  lines?  “ Nay,  nay!”  1 cried  in 
rage. 

They  brought  a bird,  a tiny  thing ; across  my  soul  there 
crept 

The  thought  that  once  upon  a time,  I — here  I own,  I 
wept. 

I could  not  taste  the  tender  flesh ; I only  mourned  my 
fate 

And  cried,  “ What  if  in  bygone  days  its  grandma  was 
my  mate?” 


Distraught,  the  menu  card  I scanned;  my  woe  was  sad  to  see. 

Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl  the  cuisine  held — all  kith  and  kin  to  me. 

“Alas!”  I sighed,  “ ’twill  not  be  long — we’re  swiftly  hastening  there — 
They’ll  soon  add  Fricassee  of  Man  unto  the  bill-of-fare.  ” 


Free  from  Bad 
Ones. 

/l'HE  leading  citizen 
* of  a small  country 
town  escorted  a friend 
on  a tour  of  inspection 
through  the  village. 
The  friend,  who  was  a 
resident  of  a metropol- 
itan city,  was  duly  im- 
pressed by  the  many  ad- 
vantages of  the  little 
town.  Finally  the  two 
men  reached  the  ceme- 
tery. The  visitor  care- 
fully looked  at  the  va- 
rious tributes  and  then 
turned  to  his  guide. 
“ Say,  Dave,”  he  began, 
“ wh-wh-where  do  you 
b-b-bury  your  s-s-sin- 
ners?” 


Jessica — ‘‘  When  the 
judge  asked  you  how  old 
you  were,  what  did  you 
say?” 

Margery  — “I  told 
him  if  he  were  a good 
judge  he  wouldn’t  ask.” 

The  Usual  Place. 

Stout  party — “ Say, 
young  fellow,  do  you 
know  where  I could  get 
a hair-cut?” 

Urchin  — “ Sure, 
guv’nor — on  yer  head.” 


GOING  SOME. 

The  squirrel—"  And  yet  some  people  say  that  hops  are  not  good  for  the  health  T" 


BOTH  GUILTY. 


Doris — “ Mamma,  why  is  your  hair  turning  gray  ?” 

Mamma — “ Because  you  are  such  a bad  little  girl  sometimes.” 
Doris — “ What  a bad  child  you  must  have  been,  mamma ! Grand- 
ma’s hair  is  almost  white.” 

A Possibility. 

<4  VTES,”  proudly  observed  the  Japanese  official,  “ our 
* latest  naval  statistics  show  that  we  now  have 
thirty  first-class  battleships.” 

“Ah,  invincible  Nippon!”  exclaimed  another  states- 
man of  the  land  of  the  rising  sun.  “ Still,  it  is  hardly 
accurate  yet  to  include  the  American  fleet.  Some  of 
their  vessels  may  be  sunk.” 

Tricked  of  the  Time. 

A PHILADELPHIA  lawyer,  who  spends  most  of  his 
* * time  at  his  country  estate,  employs  a sturdy  Irish 
gardener,  whose  one  desire  in  life  is  to  live  until 
the  banner  of  freedom  is  unfurled  over  Ireland. 

One  evening  the  lawyer  strolled 
through  the  grounds  of  his  place  and 
stopped  to  have  a chat  with  the  gardener. 

“ Michael,  do  you  know  that  while  we 
are  here  enjoying  the  beautiful  twilight 
it  is  dark  midnight  in  Ireland?”  he  asked. 

‘‘Faith,  an’  Oi’m  not  surprised,”  re- 
plied the  gardener.  “ Ireland  niver  got 
justice  yit.” 

The  Wrong'  One, 

J^fR.  GUNSON  took  two  cigars  from 
his  pocket,  carefully  selected  one 
and  handed  the  other  to  his  guest. 

“ Fine  cigars,”  he  remarked,  striking 
a match.  “ Two  for  a quarter.  ” 

The  guest  puffed  a light  into  his 
cigar  and  blew  a cloud  of  smoke  into  the 
air. 

” Two  for  a quarter?”  he  asked. 


**  Yes,”  replied  Mr.  Gunson  proudly. 

“ Sorry  I didn’t  get  the  twenty-cent  one!”  remarked 
the  guest  sadly. 

Behind  Her  Fan. 

1MTOW  isn’t  it  a pretty  way,  refusing  me,  ill-using  me, 
After  many  years  of  presents  and  attention  to  her 
Fan? 

She  is  now  about  excusing  me,  not  choosing  me,  but  los- 
ing me, 

To  listen  to  a Briton,  a titled  Englishman. 

Instead  of  sweetly  cheering  me, 

Revering  me,  endearing  me, 

Sighing  for  me,  dying  for  me. 

Loving  all  she  can, 

She’s  actually  sneering  at  me. 

Jeering  at  me,  peering  at  me, 

Abusing  me,  ill-using  me, 

And  all  behind  her  Fan! 

Pretty  sort  of  treatment  after  paying  for  the  Fan ! 

WALTER  BEVERLEY  CRANE. 

A Change  in  Address. 

A SOLDIER  of  the  great  army  of  the  unemployed 
* * shuffled  up  to  the  roll-top  desk  and  looked  over. 

“ Say,  are  you  de  guy  wot  advertised  for  a man  to 
address  envelopes?”  he  asked  anxiously. 

“I  am,”  replied  the  man  at  the  desk;  ‘‘but  if  you 
can’t  address  envelopes  any  better  than  you  addressed 
me,  you’ll  find  the  exit  where  you  came  in.” 

Pessimism  in  Church. 

<<  IJfOW  DID  you  like  the  sermon  to-day?” 

“ Fairly  well ; but  didn’t  you  think  the  minister 
struck  a rather. pessimistic  note?” 

“ I hadn’t  observed  it.  The  choir  struck  so  many 
that  I overlooked  the  minister’s.” 

Tough. 

Frayed  Fagin — “ Here’s  a piece  in  de  paper  about  a 
feller  wot’s  goin’  ter  swim  from  Philadelphia  to  New 
York.” 

Lily  field  Toilnot — ‘‘Well,  it’s  a tough  git-away;  but 
yer  can’t  hardly  blame  him  if  dat’s  de  only  way  he  could 
manage  it.” 


SUBURBAN  LIFE  IN  AMERICA. 

Mr.  Countryhouse  takes  a milk-punch. 


SAVED  HER  SEVERAL  MILLIONS. 


Gladys  (simpering) — “What  do  you  think.  Jack  ? I believe  Count  Bustedbroke  is  going  to 

propose!  He  told  me  yesterday  that  all  he  craved  was  just  one  kiss  ” 

Jack  (excitedly) — “ Give  it  to  him,  by  gad  ! — give  it  to  him  at  once  I Then  thank  your  stars  you 
got  off  so  cheaply.” 


“My  son,”  inquired  the 
preacher,  “ may  I ask  what  were 
the  last  words  of  your  father  ?” 
“ Sir,”  was  the  reply,  “ father 
never  had  any  last  words.  Mother 
was  with  him  to  the  last.” 

J.  M.  Barnhart,  Urbana,  111. 


TITTLE  FRED’S  mother  had 
company.  One  of  the  vis- 
itors, an  old  friend  whom  she  had 
not  seen  since  her  marriage,  asked 
to  see  Fred.  The  mother  went 
out  to  bring  the  little  fellow  in. 

Presently  the  sounds  of  a 
scuffle  in  the  next  room  were 
heard,  and  the  low  tones  of  the 
mother  as  though  remonstrating 
with  the  youngster.  Then  the 
shrill  voice  of  Master  Fred  was 
heard. 

“ I don’t  care ; company  or  nff 
company,  I won’t  have  my  face 
washed  with  spit.” 

F.  M.  Wheelock,  Corry,  Pa. 


SPEAKING  THE  TRUTH. 

^f'HE  PARSON  arrived  unexpectedly  to  remain 
* for  supper  with  a large  colored  family  in 
Kentucky.  Immediately  the  cabin  was  in  com- 
motion, and  mammy  swept  away  the  swarm  of 
little  pickaninnies  with  a few  well-timed  warnings 
and  reminders  as  to  table  manners.  When  supper 
was  ready,  the  ’possum  and  “ taters  ” were  tempt- 
ing, and  little  Susie  watched  with  despairing  eyes 
the  delectable  viands  diminish  and  fade  away  into 
nothing  ere  her  turn  came.  When  the  parson  had 
almost  finished,  mammy  turned  to  Susie  and  said, 

“ Have  some  mo’  ’possum,  honey?” 

A pair  of  indignant  eyes  flashed. 

“ Mo’!  I ain’t  had  some  yet!”  exploded  Susie. 

Kenneth  E.  Bowen,  North  Collins,  N.  Y. 

THE  BLOW  NEVER  TOUCHED  HIM. 

¥VURING  a heavy  shower  a man  with  a very  wet 
overcoat  entered  a Boston  hotel  to  pay  a 
business  call  upstairs.  Not  wishing  to  take  the 
dripping  coat  with  him,  he  hung  it  in  the  hall 
and  pinned  this  note  to  it:  “ This  coat  belongs  to 
a man  who  strikes  a two-hundred-pound  blow. 
Back  in  ten  minutes.” 

When  he  returned,  his  overcoat  was  gone  and 
in  its  place  was  his  note,  with  the  addition: 
“ P.  S.  Taken  by  a man  who  walks  ten  miles  an 
hour.  Won’t  be  back  at  all.” 

Ben  Feblowitz,  Wellsville,  N.  Y. 

FAITHFUL  UNTIL  THE  LAST. 

A MINISTER  had  been  called  in  at  the  last 
* * moment  to  preach  the  funeral  sermon  of  a 
man  with  whom  he  was  entirely  unacquainted. 
Being  at  a loss  as  to  how  he  should  speak  of  the 
deceased,  he  approached  a member  of  the  household, 
with  the  hope  of  obtaining  some  suggestion. 


A STAR  ACHIEVEMENT. 

Sooner  Nott — “ De  best  day’s  work  I ever  done  in  me  life  wuz  de  day  I 
got  married.” 

Honvitl  Wauz  — “ How  wuz  dat  ?” 

Sooner  Nott — “ 1 worked  me  fadder-in-law  fer  five  dollars  ter  pay  de  min- 
ister an*  hung  up  de  minister.” 


CHRISTMAS  SWEETENERS. 


The  Stuttering  Sonneteer. 

SOULFUL  SONGS  OF  THE  HUMBLE  COUNTER-JUMPER 
TO  THE  HAUGHTY  SALESLADY. 

By  Sus-sus-Sam  S.  Sus-sus-Stinson. 

LIGHT  of  my  life,  my  pup-pup-precious  one, 

I bid  you  wuh-wuh-welcome  to  the  store. 

I watch  you  kuk-kuk-coming  through  the  door, 
And  sus-sus-see  the  kuk-kuk-cash-boys  run 
To  take  your  wraps.  My  day  has  just  begun 
When  I can  sus-sus-see  my  love  once  more. 

And  all  my  pent-up  pup-pup-passion  pour 
In  verses  to  my  Ami-zuz-zuz-zon. 

Last  nun-nun-night  I dud-dud-dreamed  of  you, 

And  in  my  dud-dud-dream  I walked  alone 
Be-sus-sus-side  the  sea,  and  ere  I knew 

You  came  up  through  the  wuh-wuh-waves,  my  own, 
Like  Aphro-dud-dud-dite,  and  you  threw 

Me  kuk-kuk-kisses  from  your  far-off  throne. 

The  Mistle-pto. 

««  pAPA,  is  this  mistletoe  poison?” 

* “Yes,  Johnny.” 

“ If  I eat  a berry  will  it  make  me  sick?” 

“Yes,  Johnny;  it  will.” 

“ Well,  what  will  I have?” 

“ You’ll  have  mistle-ptomain  poisoning,  my  son.” 

Impressionable. 

SUCH  little  things  had  influence  o’er  him — 

His  watch-chain  held  for  him  a wondrous  charm. 
And  from  his  mantel  in  the  morning  dim 
A nickel  clock  would  fill  him  with  alarm. 


The  Why  of  It. 

44  TA7HY,”  asked  the  weary-looking  man  of  the  chap 
* ™ who  had  been  talking  an  hour  without  saying 
anything,  “ is  a human  being  different  from  a suit-case?” 
“ I don’t  know,”  answered  the  gab  artist.  “ Why?” 
“ Because,  ” continued  the  weary-looking  man,  with 


THE  STANDARD  IS  TOO  HIGH. 

“ I tell  you  it’s  tough  to  be  the  only  kid  in  the  family.” 

“Why?" 

“ ’Cause  pa  goes  around  bragging  about  me,  and  then,  when  com- 
pany comes  and  I can’t  make  good,  I get  a licking.” 

a meaning  glance,  “when  there’s  nothing  in  it,  it  is 
most  easily  shut  up.” 

The  Limit. 


AS  TRUTHFUL  AS  USUAL. 

Mrs.  Hen — “ Aren’t  the  twins  just  too  cute,  Mr.  Owl  ?” 
Mr.  Onvi — “ E r-er.  v*«.  end  the  tmape  of  their  father.” 


44  ¥ AM  surprised  you  didn’t  pro. 

* pose  to  Dottie  before.  You 
know  she  has  plenty  of  money  even 
if  she  is  homely.” 

“ My  dear  fellow,  it  isn’t  her 
being  homely  I object  to.  I could 
stand  that,  but  she  has  such  an 
affectionate  disposition.” 

Give  and  Take. 

Lawyer  (examining  juror) — “ Do 
you  understand  the  difference  be- 
tween character  and  reputation?” 
Juror — “ Reputation  is  the  name 
your  neighbors  give  you ; character 
is  the  one  they  take  from  you.” 

Brevity. 

((CAY,  Tommy,  you  want  to  get 
a piece  sewed  on  to  those 
pants.  They  ’re  too  short.  ’ ’ 

“Short  nothin’!  I got  into 
them  too  far  — that’s  what’s  the 
matter.” 


THE  PIE-OUS  TRAMP'S  TRIUMPH. 


“THE  EGG  SEEMS  ALL  RIGHT,  BUT  THE  NEST 
LOOKS  MIGHTY  UNCOMFORTABLE.” 

Beautiful  Snow. 

(Disrespectfully  dedicated  to  the  street-cleaning  department.) 


The  guardian  caught  the  name  well  enough 
to  know  the  answer. 

“Oui,  oui,  m’sieur,”  he  replied;  “gend- 
arme.” 

“T  thought  so, ’’said  the  colonel;  “and  I 
want  to  say  to  you,”  he  added,  tapping  the 
man  on  the  breast  in  a friendly  fashion,  “ that 
the  John  Darm  family  seems  to  be  about  as 
well  represented  in  France  as  the  John  Smith 
family  is  in  America.” 

A Hard  One. 

«<T\AD,”  began  Tommy,  “haven’t  I been 
real  good  since  I’ve  been  going  to  Sun- 
day school?” 

“Yes,”  answered  dad. 

“ And  you  trust  me  now,  don’t  you?” 

“ Yes,”  said  dad. 

“Then,”  demanded  Tommy,  “ what  makes  you  keep 
your  box  of  cigars  hid  the  same  as  ever?” 


SNOW,  snow,  beautiful  snow, 

Lying  in  heaps  on  the  ground  below, 
Blocking  the  gutters  and  car-tracks  and  street. 
Caking  and  freezing  and  wetting  our  feet. 

Oh,  how  we  love  you!  We  worship  you  so! 
Beautiful,  beautiful,  beautiful  snow! 

Slush,  slush,  beautiful  slush, 

Charming  consistency  something  like  mush. 
Splashing  all  over  our  pedal  extremes. 

Bringing  us  grip  and  most  horrible  dreams. 

Oh,  how  we  love  your  melodious  “ sqush  ”1 
Beautiful,  beautiful,  beautiful  slush ! 

Mud,  mud,  beautiful  mud, 

In  mounds  or  in  ridges  or  elegant  pud- 
Dles  at  the  crossings  where  automobiles 
Spatter  you  o’er  us.  How  lovely  it  feels! 

How  we  adore  you ! And  yet  how  we  shud- 
Der  at  you,  beautiful,  beautiful  mud  1 

G.  HAWLEY. 


A Prolific  Family. 

TpHE  STORY  is  told  around  Denver  that  when  Colonel 
* Dick  Mullins  landed  in  France  he  didn’t  know  one 
French  word  from  another.  Indeed,  he  seemed  to  think 
to^re  wasn’t  any  French  language  at  all,  and  blithely 
butted  in  with  his  questions  in  his  own  tongue,  as  though 
that  were  universal.  Sitting  in  his  train  at  Havre  he 
saw  a policeman  near  by,  and,  thinking  he  might  be 
some  military  notable,  asked  a Frenchman  next  to  him 
who  it  was. 

“ Gendarme,”  responded  the  polite  Gaul,  guessing  at 
the  question  trom  the  colonel’s  nod. 

At  one  or  two  other  stations  the  same  question 
brought  the  same  answer.  In  Paris  one  hurried  through 
the  caf6  where  the  colonel  was  sipping  his  coffee  like  a 
true  Parisian,  and  he  asked  the  waiter  who  it  was. 

“ Gendarme,”  replied  the  waiter,  smiling  at  the  rich 
American. 

Late  at  night,  on  his  way  tc  h;t»  hotel,  the  colonel 
met  one  face  to  face. 

“ Excuse  me,”  he  said  to  the  guardian  of  the  peace; 
“ are  you  John  Darm?” 


A Mnemonic  Achievement. 

Johnny — “ Uncle  Jim  says  he  can  recollect  when  the 
public  square  here  was  all  woods.” 

Jimmy — “ Huh!  Pa  says  he  can  remember  ’way  back 
before  Bryan  began  runnin’  fer  President.” 


At  the  Grand  Opera. 

Inquisitive  nephew — “ Uncle,  what’s  that  hole  in  the 
curtain  for?” 

Bored  uncle — “Hush,  child;  that’s  put  there  so  the 
actors  can  see  the  show.” 

News  Item. 

THE  mustard  in  the  hamlet  of  Spiici  is  indeed  strong. 

A man  made  a plaster  of  it,  put  it  on  his  back,  and 
that  night  it  drew  his  diamond  stud  into  his  body.  Up 
to  the  time  of  going  to  press  the  doctors  are  still  probing 
for  it. 

Heaven. 

ANST  think  what  is  heaven? 

Is  it  where 

There  is  no  end  to  hymn  and 
prayer? 

And  Sunday  school? 

Is  it  a place 
Of  saintly  grace 
Prescribed  and  handed  out  by 
rule? 

Ah,  no;  each  soul  must  have  its 
own. 

What  most  it  wishes  that 
shall  be 

The  ultimate,  supreme  reward — 
Its  answer  to  eternity. 

There  all  shall  find  their  heart’s  desire; 

Full  measure  to  manl  d shall  come. 

The  eood  are  there,  the » 1,  too — 

Far  heaven  will  be  h to  some. 

WILLIAM  J LAMFTOH. 


Mabel,  the  Modest  Mucilage  Maker. 

A MELOW-DRAMA  IN  SEVERAL  SPASMS. 
^'ASPING  with  surprise,  our  herui.,J  saw  her  lover, 
Jack  Walton,  lying  bound  on  the  ground  before 
her.  But  it  will  be  remembered  that  before  Mabel 
worked  (for)  Mazuma  Marks,  the  mucilage  magnate, 
she  was  employed  in  a cigar  factory.  She  had  little 
difficulty,  therefore,  in  unraveling  the  ropes  which  bound 
Jack. 

“What,  Mabel!  you  here!”  he  gasped,  when  he 
caught  sight  of  his  fair  rescuer. 

“ Yes,  Jack,”  she  answered.  “ I have  not  worked  in 
a mucilage  factory  for  nothin’.  I will  stick  to  you.” 

At  that  moment  St.  Hulbert  de  Marks,  the  son  of 
Mabel’s  former  employer,  and  Jack’s  bitter  enemy, 
sneaked  up  behind  her. 

“Ha!  ’tis  Mabel,  the  modest  mucilage  maker!”  he 
cried  and  seized  hold  of  her  around  the  waist.  But,  as 
Mabel  said,  she  had  not  worked  in  a glue  factory  for 
nothing.  Springing  up,  she  pasted  St.  Hulbert  in  the 
face,  and,  with  Jack,  fled  into  the  night. 

( To  be  continued .) 

Worked  Both  Ways. 

*<*IMIE  country  is  starving  for  ten-thousand-dollar 
* men!”  shouted  the  high-browed  lecturer. 

“ And  a lot  of  thirteen-dollar  men  are  [starving  for 
their  country,”  echoed  a United  States  soldier  in  our 
island  possessions  as  he  inspected  his  rations. 

Carried  Too  Big  a One. 

Benham — “ The  load  of  a full-grown  elephant  is  two 
tons.” 

Mrs.  Benham — “ I wish,  when  you  go  out  nights,  that 
you  would  take  a smaller  elephant  for  your  model.” 

Force  of  Habit 

tt  ^'LOSE  shave,  sir?” 

No  response. 

“ Would  you  prefer  the  windows  closed?” 

No  response. 

“ Getting  rather  cold,  eh?” 

No  response. 

“ Trim  your  mustache,  sir?” 

No  response. 

“ Think  Roosevelt  will  accept  a third 
term?” 

No  response. 

“ Bay  rum?” 

No  response. 

“ Any  news  about  the  murder  trial?” 

No  response. 

Whereupon  the  country  barber,  who  was 
alone  in  his  shop,  took  a seat  greatly  re- 
freshed. 

He  had  been  shaving  himself! 

WALTER  PULITZER. 

Curt,  but  True. 

She — “ I wonder  where  those  clouds  are 
going?” 

He — “ They  are  going  to  thunder.” 


Poor  Fellow. 

He — “Did  you  know  Brown’s  wife  was  treating  him 
like  a dog?” 

She — “ Why,  no!  What  does  she  do?” 

He — “ She  does  nothing  but  pet  him  all  the  time.” 

Already  in  Force 

She — “ There  ought  to  be  a heavy  penalty  imposed 
upon  every  married  man  with  half  a dozen  children.” 

He — “ There  is.  He  has  to  support  them.” 

Only  Kind. 

Tommy — “ Pa,  what  is  a tug  of  war?” 

Knicker — “ One  commanded  by  both  the  line  and 
staff.” 

Bespoke. 

44  QHE  seems  like  a very  reserved  girl.” 

“ Yes — I wonder  who  for?” 


The  Birth  Column 

Compiled  from  the  rural  weeklies.  Some  of  them  really  were  and  the  others  might  have  been 

By  Terrell  Love 


OINCE  the  stork  visited  the  home  of  Casper  Rubber- 
^ man  and  left  a bouncing  baby  girl,  Cas  has  been 
stepping  with  a very  elastic  tread.  He  can,  however, 
probably  be  caught  on  the  rebound  about  three  a.  m. 

Ike  Stone  says  there  are  two  little  pebbles  growing 
on  his  beach  this  morning  where  only  one  grew  before. 

Sam  Carter,  the  best  poker-player  in  Big  Horn,  . as 
dealt  a king  and  a queen  last  night.  He  affirms  that 
they  are  a good  pair  to  draw  to  (o) . 

The  chip-basket  at  Ira  Block’s  is  full.'  The  last  chip 
off  the  old  block  weighed  twelve  pounds. 

Born  to  the  wife  of  Jack  Quail,  Thursday  the  8th, 
triplets — a fine  covey.  Jack  is  so  swelled  up  he  has  for- 
gotten his  gun-shy  bachelor  day" 


The  many  friends  of  Mr.  Ote  Wheat  and  wife  (for- 
merly Miss  Meadows,  of  Coshocton)  are  congratulating 
them  upon  a successful  harvest.  Sweet  Clover  and 
Timothy  0.,  the  eight-pound  girl  and  the  nine-pound  boy 
who  filled  their  hearts  and  the  family  cradle  to  overflow- 
ing, are  doing  well.  May  the  chinch-bugs  never  get  them ! 

Greenleaf  Wood  had  a little  splinter  in  his  hand  this 
morning  when  wc  called  at  the  back  door  to  borrow  some 
eggs  for  breakfast,  but  he  didn’t  seem  to  be  in  pain,  so 
we  refrained  from  offering  to  pick  it  out.  It  is  the  kind 
that  will  wear  curl  papers  and  a mother  hubbard  when 
it  grows  up. 

Henry  Wilson  and  wife,  Monday  morning,  triplets. 
Wanted,  a fresh  cow. 


HUNGRY  HANK  SCORES  A VICTORY. 


I 


A LONG-FELT  WANT. 


Smithkins’s  Automatic  Baby  Tender 

By  Arthur  William  Beer 


* ~ «p^^RAT  it!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Brown,  as  a buggy 
1 ■ drawn  by  a raw-boned,  hammer-headed 

equine  was  halted  in  front  of  the  farm- 
house. “ There’s  another  of  them  pesky 
machine  agents!”  Then,  observing  that  the  occupant 
of  the  buggy  was  in  the  act  of  unpacking  something 
which  stood  in  the  rear  of  the  vehicle,  swathed  in  a 
white  cloth,  she  went  to  the  door  and  shouted, 

“ You  needn’t  to  go  to  all  that  trouble.  I’ve  got  a 
good  enough  sewing  machine  now,  and  if  it’s  washing 
machines  or  patent  churns  or  such  like,  I don’t  want 
’em.” 

The  man  smiled  wanly,  but  proceeded  with  his  work 
of  unpacking,  and 
a few  seconds 
later  clambered 
up  the  front  steps, 
struggling  under 
the  load  of  a most 
curiously  con- 
trived machine, 
which  he  careful- 
ly, and  with  an 
air  of  loving 
pride,  deposited 
on  the  front  porch. 

“ Madam,”  he 
said,  when  he  had 
somewhat  recov- 
ered his  breath, 

“ I am.  told  that 
you  have  a baby 
in  the  house.” 

“Well,  of  all 
the  impudence!” 
exclaimed  Mrs. 

Brown  indignant- 
ly- 

“No  offense 
intended,  madam, 

I assure  you,” 
said  the  agent. 

“ You  will  pres- 
ently catch  the 
import  of  my 
words.”  Then, 
clearing  his 
throat,  he  pro- 
ceeded : 

“From  cre- 
ation’s dawn  man- 
kind was  by  cruel 
fate  bound  hand 
and  foot  to  the 
8 


iron  wheel  of  labor,  until,  in  comparatively  recent  years, 
the  deft  hand  of  science  released  him  and  at  last  afforded 

him  that  long-denied  and  glorious  opportunity  of” 

Mrs.  Brown,  with  an  impatient  gesture,  checked  the 
speaker  in  his  impassioned  flight. 

“ That’s  all  very  interesting,”  she  said,  “ and  sounds 
most  as  good  as  the  orating  down  at  the  Four  Corners’ 
school  closing  t’other  day;  but  I’m  too  all-fired  busy 
to” 

“ Busy!”  eagerly  broke  in  the  agent.  “ That’s  just 
it.  That’s  the  very  point  I am  trying  to  make.  I see 
you  are  a practical  woman,  and  I’ll  dispense  with  my 
usual  introductory  remarks.”  Then,  pointing  to  the 

machine  at  his 
side,  he  said  im- 
pressively, 

“ Madam,  you 
see  before  you 
science’s  greatest 
boon  to  tired 
womankind  — 
‘ Smithkins’s  Pat- 
e n t Automatic 
Baby  Tender,’ 
sold  on  the  easy- 
payment  plan,  and 
fully  warranted 
for  ten  years.” 

“ Smithkins  ’ s 
what!”  gasped 
Mrs.  Brown. 

“Just  as  I 
say,  ” returned  the 
agent.  “ Let  me 
explain  its  work- 
ings. It’s  a mar- 
vel of  simplici- 
ty.” 

“ It  looks  it,” 
said  Mrs.  Brown, 
as  she  glanced 
scornfully  at  the 
fantastic  contri- 
vance. 

“Madam,”  re- 
plied the  agent, 
“once  you  possess 
one  of  these  won- 
derful machines 
your  troubles  are 
at  an  end.  Say 
that  you  put  baby 
in  his  crib  to 
sleep.  Ten  to  one 


TWO  PICTURES  FOR  THE  PRICE  OF  ONE. 

Bill’s  scheme  of  posing  on  the  edge  of  a small  pond  with  his  machine  isn’t  a half  bad  idea. 


PAPA  TEACHES  MAMMA  TO  SKATE— A HOLD-UP  ON  THE  ICE. 
“ Now,  skate,  Mary!  and  don’t  you  dare  to  fall !" 


he  wakes  up  before  you  are  ready  to  take  care  of  him, 
and  he’s  just  got  to  be  amused.  Now  suppose  you  have 
one  of  these  machines.  When  you  put  baby  down  you 
simply  place  it  in  position  at  the  side  of  his  crib,  taking 
care  to  see  that  the  receiving  disks  of  the  sound  motors 
are  correctly  placed  ” 

“ The  sound  motors!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Brown. 

“Yes;  that’s  the  beau^'Tul  part  of  the  invention. 
You  see,”  explained  the  agent,  “ Wuen  baby  wakes,  the 
first  thing  he  does  is  to  cry,  though  perhaps  not  very 
loud  at  the  beginning.  Now  observe  what  happens.  The 
sound  waves  strike  the  proper  receiving  disk  and  set  in 
motion  the  delicate  mechanism.  This  arm  here  raises 
and  lowers  the  wheel  you  see  here  into  position  within 
easy  reach  of  the  child.  The  wheel,  as  you  see,  is  pro- 
vided at  regular  intervals  with  spring  clasps,  in  which 
objects  are  easily  placed  and  as  easily  removed.  We 
furnish  free  with  each  outfit  a set  of  articles,  such  as 
rattles,  teething  rings,  rubber  dolls,  e.nd  the  like,  which 
may  be  placed  in  the  wheel.  Now,  when  low- 
ered into  position,  the  wheel  begins  to  revolve 
slowly.  Sometimes  its  mere  revolving  will  be 
sufficient  to  amuse  and  quiet  baby,  or  as  he 
sees  fit  he  may  grab  from  the  wheel  the  play- 
thing that  pleases  him.  So  soon  as  he  removes 
anything,  however,  a lever  is  released,  which 
raises  the  wheel  and  swings  it  back  into  its 
old  position  out  of  harm’s  way.  Should  baby 
cry  for  it  again,  it  will  return  automatically.” 

“Marvelous!”  cried  Mrs.  Brown.  “But 
what’s  that  crab  net  for?”  pointing  to  a small 
hammock  which  was  suspended  from  a metal 
bracket. 

“ Ah,  that,”  said  the  agent  enthusiastically, 

“ that  is  one  of  the  features  of  the  most  im- 
portant part  of  the  whole  arrangement!  Now 
suppose  the  revolving  wheel  fails  to  amuse 
baby  or  he  grows  tired  of  playing  with  the 


toys.  His  cries  will  naturally  in- 
crease in  volume.  As  soon  as  his 
crying  reaches  a certain  pitch,  this 
second  sound  motor  sets  in  opera- 
tion the  machinery  you  see  here,” 
and  the  agent  unlimbered  a set  of 
what  looked  like  rubber-covered 
grab-hooks  attached  to  a kind  of 
crane.  “ This  carrying  arm  reaches 
down  in  the  crib,  carefully  picks 
up  baby,  and  deposits  him  in  the 
little  hammock.  The  latter,  you 
observe,  is  swung  on  our  new  pat- 
ent, self-adjusting,  swivel  rockers, 
and  as  soon  as  baby  is  safely  landed 
it  begins  to  sway  back  and  forth. 
At  the  same  time  a phonograph, 
which  hitherto  has  been  concealed 
at  the  base  of  the  machine,  is  ex- 
posed to  view  and  commences  to 
get  in  its  soothing  work.  We  fur- 
nish you  a set  of  records,  consist- 
ing of  lullabies,  nursery  jingles, 
The  latter  are  particularly  effective. 

! have  one  record  that  runs  something 


ana  baby  talk. 

For  instance,  ’’ 
like  this : 

‘Oose  itty  bitty  tootsy  wootsy  is  oose? 

Oose  is  nwmsey’s  itty  bitty  tootsy  wootsy; 
ess,  oose  .j,’ 

and  so  on.  If  preferred,  of  course,  records  reproducing 
the  exact  tones  of  the  mother  can  be  used,  with  almost 
miraculous  effect. 

“ Now,  if  you  will  kindly  fill  out  this  blank,  I 
will” 

“ Hold  on  a moment!”  cried  Mrs.  Brown.  “ Hold  on! 
Your  machine  is  no  doubt  all  that  you  claim,  but  can  it 
always  be  depended  on  to  work,  and  aren’t  accidents 
likely  to  happen  sometimes?” 

“ Madam,”  replied  the  agent,  “ this  machine  possesses 
something  that  is  above  human  intelligence.  A mere 
human  being  may  make  mistakes,  but  this  machine 
works  automatically  and  unerringly.  I won’t  attempt 


A FITTING  DESIGN  FOR  THE  AUTO  ROAD-HOG. 
Approved  by  the  farmers  in  general. 


MASONS,  TAKE  NOTICE. 
“An  accident  on  the  square.” 


to  deny  that  there  haven’t  been  a few  mishaps,  but  the 
proportion  is  very  small,  very  small  indeed.  I placed 
one  of  the  machines  a few  months  ago  with  Mrs.  Atkins 
over  at  Piketown.  She  said  it  worked  fairly  well  a time 
or  two,  but  that  one  day  she  came  in  and  found  the  baby 
suspended  in  air  by  the  automatic  carrying  arm,  and 
that  he  was  almost  exhausted  from  squalling  so  much.” 
“ Oh!  was  he?”  said  Mrs.  Brown. 

“ Yes,”  he  went  on,  ignoring  the  note  of  sarcasm  in 
her  voice,  “ but  the  explanation  of  the  matter  is  really 
very  simple,  very  simple  indeed.  He  had  raised  a cry 
which  was  sufficient  in  volume  to  start  the  mechanism, 
but  not  heavy  enough  to  set  the  sound  motor  going  at  its 
full  capacity.  The  result  was  that  the  baby  was  picked 
up  and  carried  part  way  to  the  hammock,  and  then  the 
machinery  was  checked,  leaving  baby  in  midair,  as  it 
were.  I explained  it  all  in  detail  to  Mrs.  Atkins,  but 
she  was  most  unreasonable  about  it,  most  unreasonable.” 
“ Didn’t  seem  to  appreciate  the  wonders  o’  science, 
eh?”  commented  Mrs.  Brown. 

“ Not  in  the  least.  Then  there  was  Mrs.  Blinks  up 
at  Pine  Gap.  She  tried  one  of  the  baby  tenders.  It 
seems  she  came  in  one  day  and  found  her  baby  girl  in 
the  hammock,  almost  black  in  the  face  and  gasping  for 
breath.  Now  what  had  happened  was  no  fault  of  the 
machine.  It  seems  that  baby  had  crawled  down  in  her 
crib,  so  that,  instead  of  being  picked  up  properly  some- 
where about  the  waist  line,  she  was  caught  up  by  the 
neck  and  carried  in  that  manner  to  the  hammock.  She 
was  not  really  seriously  injured,  but  you’d  be  surprised 
at  the  unladylike  way  in  which  Mrs.  Blinks  has  acted. 
Talks  of  bringing  suit  for  damages,  and  all  that.” 

“Oh!  she  does,  does  she?”  sniffed  Mrs.  Brown. 

“ Ye3,  some  women  are  so  unreasonable,”  said  the 
agent. 

“ There  have  been  some  instances,  too,  ” he  continued, 
“ where  babies,  in  their  exuberance  of  spirits,  have  be- 
come rather  badly  tangled  up  in  the  revolving  wheel, 
and,  in  a few  cases  I recall,  the  jaws  of  the  carrying 
•arm  have  failed  to  connect  properly  and  baby  has  been 
allowed  to  fall;  but  this  so  rarely  happens  that  it’s  really 
not  worth  considering.  ” 

“ Not  worth  considering,  eh?”  snorted  Mrs.  Brown. 


“I  mean  from  a practical  point  of  view,”  returned 
the  agent  hastily.  “ What,  may  I ask  you,  are  a few 
insignificant  mishaps  in  the  interests  of  science?  Look 
at  the  great  number  of  people  killed  and  injured  by  rail- 
way trains,  for  example.  Does  that  make  it  any  the  less 
true  that  the  railroad  is  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  of 
civilization?  Why,  every  where  we  are  prone  to  accident 
and  surrounded  by  unknown  perils.  Even  amidst  sucl: 
peaceful  surroundings  as  these,”  he  continued,  casting 
a comprehensive  glance  over  the  rural  landscape,  “ may 
not  danger  lurk  unseen,  and  ” 

“ You’re  right  as  to  that,”  interrupted  Mrs.  Brown. 
Then  she  gave  a low  whistle,  at  the  sound  of  which  an 
immense,  shaggy  dog  of  nondescript  breed,  who  hitherto 
had  been  snoozing  peacefully  under  the  shade  of  a cur- 
rant bush  in  the  dooryard,  rose  to  his  feet,  wagged  his 
tail  slowly,  opened  a pair  of  massive  jaws  to  their  full 
extent  and  then  let  them  close  with  a snap,  after  which 
he  stood  awaiting  orders,  with  a look  on  his  face  as  if 
he  would  say, 

“ Well,  this  is  a mighty  warm  day  to  be  bothered 
with  business,  but  if  you  have  any  one  that  needs  chew- 
ing up,  Ym  right  on  the  job.” 

“There,”  said  Mrs.  Brown,  “is  my  automatic, 
double-action,  nuisance  ejector.  He  also,  you  see,  oper- 
ates by  sound  waves.  A whistle  has  brought  him  to  the 
position  you  now  see  him  in.  A couple  of  magic  words 
which  I shall  presently  say  will  set  him  further  in  mo- 
tion, and,”  she  added  significantly,  “ I’ll  say  right  now 
that  his  jaws  never  fail  to  connect  properly.  Now  I’ll 
give  you  a fair  start,  and  then  ” 

But  without  waiting  to  hear  more  the  agent  gathered 
up  his  machine  and  beat  an  undignified  retreat  in  the 


direction  of  the  bug- 

gy- 

The  dog  looked  in- 
quiringly at  Mrs. 

Brown. 

“ That’ll  be  all 
right,  Tige,”  remark- 
ed his  mistress  sooth- 
ingly. “ I guess  he’ll 
meet  his  finish  soon 
enough,  and  we  don’t 
want  his  blood  on  our 
hands.” 

Whereupon  Tige 
once  more  resumed 
his  slumbers,  and  Mrs. 

Brown  re-entered  the 
house  to  take  up  her 
daily  tasks  at  the 
point  where  she  had 
been  obliged  to  lay 
them  down. 

Our  Workers’ 

Page. 

(From  the  “ Successful 
Magazine.'’) 

CAREFUL  re- 
search discloses 
the  interesting 
fact  that  all  of  the 
great  men  of  to-day 
began  their  careers  as 
young  men.  Is  that 
not  a wonderful  thing ! 

What  encouragement 
can  be  distilled  from 
it  for  the  youth  of  to-day — the  great  men  of  to- 
morrow ! 

Many  of  the  present  great  men,  we  also  find,  who 
came  from  the  farm  and  the  back  country,  had  a habit 
of  taking  their  baths  on  Saturday  night.  This  is  pe- 
culiarly interesting  and  may  have  a great  deal  to  do 
with  their  careers.  All  ambitious  youths  might  emulate 
their  examples  in  this  respect. 

Some  great  men  started  in  as  office-boys,  others  as 
errand-boys,  and  still  others  had  their  money  left  to 
them.  The  point,  though,  is  that  all  learned  the  value 
of  money  at  an  early  age.  This  is  something  the  youth 
of  to-day  should  also  do.  It  can  be  truthfully  said  that 
the  young  person  who  would  be  willing  to  give  two 
dimes  for  a nickel  instead  of  vice  versa,  starts  out  in 
life  with  something  of  a handicap. 

But  the  youth  of  to-day  have  an  advantage  over  the 
former  generation  in  one  thing — they  have  “ Our  Work- 
ers’ Page.”  By  perusing  this  page  carefully  each  week, 
any  bright  young  man  should  be  able  to  go  out  and  turn 
over  a considerable  sum  of  money  each  week.  Tell  your 
friends  about  the  page,  and  be  sure  and  buy  next  week’s 
paper,  with  more  hints  for  the  ambitious. 


Atonement. 

<<  OISTER  SHUF- 
^ FLEM,”  says 
the  deacon’s  wife, 
‘‘I  am  pained  to 
hear  that  your  hus- 
band played  poker  the 
other  night  and  won  a 
sum  of  money,  and 
that  you  encouraged 
him  in  his  wickedness 
by  accepting  his  win- 
nings from  him.  I 
have  called  to  speak 
to  you  about  it,  and 
to  reason  with  you  as 
to” 

‘‘Wait  a minute, 
Sister  Cantby,”  inter- 
rupts Mrs.  Shufflem. 
“ It  is  true  that  John 
Henry  went  and  played 
poker  and  won  twenty 
dollars  and  forty  cents, 
and  that  I took  the 
•money  he  won,  but  I 
did  it  to  teach  him  a 
lesson.  I wouldn’t  al- 
low a husband  of  mine 
to  keep  such  ill-gotten 
gains.  And  I have 
spent  the  money  for 
prizes  for  the  bridge 
party  I am  going  to 
give  this  week.  You’ll 
be  here,  won’t  you?” 

“ Indeed  I shall,  of 
course.  I’m  glad,  Sis- 
ter Shufflem,  that  you  have  taught  your  husband  such  a 
valuable  lesson.” 

Whole  Truth. 

Witness — ‘‘I  saw  a man  with  one  eye  named 
Wilkins.” 

Lawyei — “ What  was  the  name  of  the  other  eye?” 


LIVING  ON  THE  REST  OF  HIS 
FAMILY. 


HONEST  ALL  AROUND. 

“Annie,  do  you  scald  the  baby’s  bottles  every  time?” 

Annie  (earnestly) — “ Indade,  an’  Oi  do,  ma’am,  jist  loike  ye  told  me. 
Oi  wouldn’t  desave  ye.  Oi’m  jist  th’  same  behoind  as  Oi  am  befure,  ” 


ONE  KIND  OF  AFFINITY. 


ER  name  was  Josephine — 

A country  lass  and  sweet. 
And  innocent  and  beautiful 
As  any  you  might  meet. 

I courted  her,  of  course. 

Why  should  I not  ? Should  one. 
Id  rural  districts,  when  he  sees 
A maid,  turn  round  and  run  ? 


I asked  her  to  be  mine 
Forever  and  for  aye. 

She  shook  her  pretty  head  in  grief 
And  sadly  murmured,  “ Nay. 

“ I am  bespoke,  fair  sir,” 

She  said ; “ but  I might  be. 

Quite  in  the  proper  way,  of  course, 
Your  Joeephine-ity.” 

W.  J.  LAMPTON. 


The  Bold,  Bad  Burglar.' 


IN  THE  WRONG  COACH. 

Casey  (who  had  bought  a berth  in  the  sleeper) — 
‘ How  th  ’mischief  do  they  expict  a mon  to  stretch 
out  an’  take  a good  noight’s  rist  in  wan  av  thim 
things  ?” 


residence  in  township  23,  range  13,  according  to  the  government 
survey,  one  raspberry-plush  cow,  eight  years  old. 

“ She  is  a good  milker  and  not  afraid  of  motor-cars  or  anything 
else. 

“ She  has  undaunted  courage  and  gives  milk  frequently.  To  a 
man  who  does  not  fear  death  in  any  form  she  would  be  a great  boon. 
She  is  very  much  attached  to  her  home  at  present,  by  means  of 
a twenty-foot  log  chain,  but  she  will  be  sold  to  any  one  who  will 
use  her  right. 

“ She  is  one-fourth  shorthorn  and  three-fourths  hyene. 

“ I will  also  throw  in  a double-barrel  shotgun,  as  it  goes  with 
her. 

“ In  May  she  generally  goes  away  for  a week  or  two,  and  returns 
with  a tall,  red  calf  with  wabbly  legs.” 

Modern  Complications. 

¥T  IS  pretty  hard  for  a girl  to  tell  whether  it  is  better  to  be  so 

* polite  as  to  pretend  that  she  is  not  shocked  when  she  is,  or  so 
refined  as  to  pretend  she  is  shocked  when  she  isn’t. 

There  is  also  the  complicated  case  of  the’  man  who  won’t  work 
at  all  unless  he  is  praised  for  it,  and  when  he  is  praised  for  it  be- 
comes too  chesty  to  work. 

¥T  WAS  rush  hour  in  the  subway.  Martin  Luther  hung  wearily 

* from  a strap.  “ Here  stand  I,”  he  said.  “ God  help  me,  I can 
do  no  otherwise.” 


The  Work. 

<C  ONAP !”  went  the  cables, 

>3  “ Crack  !”  went  the  chains; 

Down  dropped  the  scaffolds, 

Down  broke  the  cranes. 

Big  Tim,  the  foreman, 

Swore  like  a Turk: 

“ Hold  hard,  ye  lubbers! 

Stand  by  the  work ! 

“ Stand  by  the  work  ! 

Sure,  there’s  nothing  to  fear  for. 
Stand  by  the  work  ! 

What  are  tackle  and  gear  for? 

Stand  by  the  work ! 

Ah-h,  what  else  are  ye  here  for  ? 
Stand  by  the  work!” 

Up  go  your  bubbles, 

Down  go  your  schemes; 

“ Crash  !”  fall  your  castles, 

“ Puff!”  go  your  dreams. 

Kin  may  desert  you ; 

Friends  only  shirk. 

Stamp  on  your  trouble! 

Stand  by  the  work ! 

Stand  by  the  work  ! 

There’s  no  manhood  in  crying. 

Stand  by  the  work  ! 

There’s  no  profit  in  dying. 

Stand  by  the  work ! 

All  disaster  defying, 

Stand  by  the  work  ! 

ARTHUR  GUITERMAN. 

Was  It  Sold? 

¥%AVE  HIGGINS,  an  honest  Canadian  far- 
mer,  advertised  his  cow  for  sale  as 
follows : 

“ Owing  to  ill  health,  I will  sell  at  my 


SUBMARINE  SADNESS. 


DIVER — “Well,  if  that  ain’t  hard  luck!  Find  a bottle  of  whiskey  when 
I can’t  get  it  to  my  mouth  without  drownin'!” 


On  Motion  oi  the 
House. 

A SOUTHERN  politi- 
* * cian  tells  the  follow- 
ing anecdote  in  connection 
with  a slight  earthquake 
that  visited  many  cities  of 
the  Gulf  States  some  years 
ago.  The  shaking  of  the 
earth  was  distinctly  felt 
all  over  the  State,  but  es- 
pecially in  the  State  capi- 
tol.  The  Legislature  was 
in  session  at  the  time,  and 
nearly  every  member  there- 
of ran  out  of  the  building 
when  the  structure  began 
to  evince  a disposition  to 
turn  itself  over.  Of  course 
there  was  an  end  to  legis- 
lative proceedings  for  that 
day.  When  the  body  had 

reconvened,  it  was  found  that  some  member  of  a grimly 
humorous  turn  had  made  an  entry  on  the  journal  of  the 
Legislature  in  these  words:  “On  motion  of  the  house, 
the  Legislature  adjourned.” 


Murray  Hill-—"  Do  you  know  how  to  cure  a ham?” 
East  Side — “ What’s  wrong  with  him?” 


THE  FOOD  OF  LOVE. 

Maggie — “ It  wuz  de  swellest  dance  I ever  attended.” 

Katie — “An’  de  music ?” 

Maggie — “ Soulful  1 Dey  had  a phonergraft  most  ez  big  ez  dat  barrel." 


Exactly. 

¥ ITTLE  Mrs.  Hunter  had  heard  so  many  jokes  about 
the  brides  who  couldn’t  market  successfully  that 
she  made  up  her  mind  that  the  first  request  she  made  of 
the  marketman  would  show  her  to  be  a sophisticated 
housewife.  “ Send  me,  please,”  she  said,  “ two  French 
chops  and  one  hundred  green  peas.” 


ENTHUSIASTS. 

“Gee,  Billy  I look  at  the  gold  nuggets  lying  there!” 

“ Can’t  help  it.  We’re  just  got  enough  gasoline  to  last  us  to  the  Yukoo.” 


He  Spread  Himself 

By  Charles  C.  Mullin 


44  J4^JY  FATHER  waa  a burglar,”  imparted  the 
XtI  house  thief  to  his  companion,  as  they  lei- 
surely went  about  ransacking  the  house  they 
had  entered  and  found  “ ripe.”  “ But  he  was  different 
from  the  ordinary  run  of  that  craft — lie  was  so  terribly 
ambitious!  In  fact,  it  was  his  nervous  desire  to  go 
ahead  and  clean  up  a job  that  abruptly  ended  his  promis- 
ing career  as  a high  burglar.” 

“ How  was  that?”  asked  the  companion,  scraping 
some  spoons  together  on  a sheet. 

“ Well,  it  was  this  way.  One  night,  all  alone  (father 
wanted  all  the  glory  and  swag  there  might  be  in  a job), 
he  slunk  out  of  the  house  in  his  gummed  shoes  and  hur- 
ried straight  to  the  town  bank.  Once  inside,  he  drew 
forth  his  dynamite,  mufflers,  and  tools,  and  set  to  work 
drilling  into  the  vault.  Father  always  made  a hole  big- 
ger than  suited  the  ordinary  cracksman,  30  he  drilled  a 
regular  cave  and  filled  it  with  ten  times  the  ordinary 
bulk  of  dynamite.  Then  he  applied  the  mufflers,  attached 
his  fuse,  lit  it,  and  sprung  back  into  a distant  corner  of 
the  bank  to  wait. 

“After  crouching  there  for  what  his  nervous  tem- 
perament judged  to  be  sufficient  time  and  nothing  doing, 
father  began  to  curse  that  fuse  for  being  a dead  one. 
He  crawled  back  toward  the  loaded  vault  door,  and  had 
nearly  reached  it,  when  the  charge  went  off — What’s 
the  matter?” 

“ I thought  I heard  a door  creak  below.” 

“ That’s  the  wind.  Well,  the  result  of  that  explosion 
was  more  sweeping  than  father  had  calculated,”  resumed 
the  narrator,  flopping  a bureau  drawer  on  to  the  floor 
downside  up.  “ For  che  jar  tore  that  vault  door  from 
its  casing  and  sent  it  crashing  through  the  street  wall. 
This  alarmed  the  watchman,  who  rushed  away  for  the 
police.  The  police,  in  turn,  rushed  into  the  bank,  and  at 
a glance  saw  that  it  was  a wreck.  Father,  you  see, 
hadn’t  had  a chance  t:>  escape — he  was  still  in  the 
bank.  Of  course  the  cops  got  him.  It  was  his  last 
job.” 

“ Couldn’t  he  find  a hiding-place  till  they’d  gone?” 
“Yes;  but,  as  I said  before,  father  was  different 
from  the  ordinary  craft.  Where  one  might  be  satisfied 
with  huddling  under  a partially  collapsed  wall,  or 

A LENTEN  LITANY  FOR  LADIES. 

H,  thou,  whom  I approach  with  fear  and  trem- 
bling; 

Thou,  from  whom  no  secret  can  be  hid; 

Thou,  before  whom  naught  remaineth  concealed; 
Thou,  who  never  errest; 

Thou,  the  repository  of  established  truth; 

Thou,  the  reflector  of  knowledge  supreme  and  absolute; 
Thou,  in  whose  presence  dissimulation  is  vain; 

Thou,  that  never  failest  to  render  perfect  justice; 

Thou,  before  whom  I would  cover  up  my  face, 

Oh,  pity  my  despair! 

Look  leniently  upon  me! 

Cast  not  my  faults  back  at  me! 

Reproach  me  not  with  my  blemishes! 


squeezing  himself  through  the  hole  torn  into  the  heating 
apparatus,  or  even  winding  himself  up  in  the  twisted  and 
pliant  cashier’s  cage,  father  was  different.” 

“ Where  did  they  get  him,  then?” 

“ In  all  three  places.” 

AH  in  Sight. 

ACK  '•'PRATT  could  eat  no  fat, 

His  wife  could  eat  no  lean, 

But  when  invited  out  to  dine 
They  gobbled  all  they  seen. 

Agony. 

First  bridge  -player — “ What  made  Mrs.  de  Fitt  act 
so  strangely  during  that  last  hand?” 

Second  bridge  player — “ She  had  the  ace  up  her  sleeve 
and  couldn’t  get  it  out!” 


Neither  hold  them  up  unto  my  sightl 
Spare  me  from  utter  shame! 

Accuse  me  not  too  hardly! 

Let  not  my  condemnation  be  worse  than  I can  bear  ! 
Obliterate  the  hideousness  of  my  defects! 

Remember  not  the  past, 

And  show  mercy  toward  me,  I beseech  thee, 

Oh,  my  mirror!  Lionel  strachey. 


THE  COXCOMB. 

“ Gosh  ! I’d  like  to  see  the  bird  that  wears  that  comb." 

Ade’s  Plagiarism. 

A CERTAIN  critic,  who  was  continually  looking  for  evidences  of 
plagiarism,  met  George  Ade  shortly  after  the  production  of  the 
first  Ade  play. 

“It’s  a great  memory  you  have,  old  man,”  said  the  critic.  “Your 
play  is  simply  a repetition  of  parts  of  half  a dozen  other  plays.  How- 
ever, I congratulate  you  on  the  skill  with  which  you  have  patched  the 
stolen  parts  together.” 

So  it  was  with  everything  that  was  done  by  Ade — or,  for  that  matter, 
by  anybody  else.  The  critic  was  always  ready  to  name  the  old  plays  from 
which  every  new  one  had,  in  his  opinion,  been  stolen.  After  the  pro- 
duction of  “ The  College  Widow,”  in  which  the  son  of  one  of  the  chief 
patrons  of  a Baptist  college  falls  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  the  presi- 
dent of  a Presbyterian  college  — there  being  great  rivalry  between  the 
two  institutions — Ade  met  the  critic,  and,  feeling  that  there  was  a 
chance  at  last  to  confound  him,  said, 

“ Well,  I hope  you’ll  concede  now  that  I’m  capable  of  doing  something 
original.  You  haven’t  found  any  evidences  of  plagiarism  in  this  play, 
have  you?” 

“Huh!”  replied  the  critic.  “Worse  case  I ever  saw.  It’s  merely 
‘ Romeo  and  Juliet  ’ done  over — the  house  of  Capulet  and  the  house  of 
Montague — with  a happy  ending  substituted  for  the  tragedy.” 

For  a moment  Ade  was  stunned.  Then  he  threw  up  his  hands,  say- 
ing, “ All  right.  I thought  I could  get  away  v ;th  it,  but  you’ve  caught 
me  with  the  goods.” 

Nefarious. 

THERE  was  a young  gent  temerarious, 

Who  developed  a talent  burglarious. 

He  got  caught  in  the  strife, 

And  he  now  leads  a life 
Which  is  simple,  but  far  from  precarious. 

Very  Plain. 

Restaurant  patron — “ That  isn’t  a very  good-looking  piece  of  meat.” 
Waiter — “ Well,  you  ordered  a plain  steak.” 


AT  THE  SOURCE. 

“ Aba ! I knew  there  was  a spring 
around  here.” 


A FINISHED  ANIMAL  PAINTER. 


A Few  Facts. 

^I'HE  CHILD  who  cried  for  an  hour  didn’t  get  it. 

* Sulphur  springs  are  the  best  places  for  match- 
making. 

Pickpockets  never  succeed  till  they  get  their  hands 
in. 

Pawnbrokers  prefer  patrons  with  no  redeeming  quali- 
ties. 

Corkscrews  have  sunk  more  people  than  cork  jackets 
will  save. 

The  sluggard  is  referred  to  the  ant,  but  he  goes  to 
his  uncle. 

All  that  is  requisite  in  the  enjoyment  of  love  or 
sausages  is  confidence. 

A little  sighing,  a little  crying,  a little  dying,  and  a 
great  deal  of  lying  constitute  love. 

A man  is  sometimes  in  advance  of  his  age,  but  you 
never  heard  of  a woman  in  that  condition. 


Steam  Heat. 

OH,  MY  baby-child,  Decatur, 

Don’t  go  near  that  radiator! 

Precious  little  locks  of  gold, 

You  will  catch  your  death  of  cold! 

Don’t  you  see?  Have  you  not  noted 
How  with  frost  the  heater’s  coated? 

Icy  icicles  abound  it — 

See  what  glacierettes  surround  it! 

For,  Decatur,  you  must  know 
How  the  jant.,  ’way  down  below, 

Fills  those  pipes  with  steam,  I’m  told; 

But  that  steam  grows  very  cold. 

Thus,  as  through  the  pipes  it  squeezes, 

All  that  vapor  quickly  freezes 
Long  before  our  flat  is  reached — 

That  old  jant.  should  be  impeached. 

So  be  careful,  darling  baby. 

Don’t  go  near  it,  love,  or  maybe 
You’ll  get  grippe,  or  even  freeze— 
Heaven’s  sakes ! He’s  going  to  sneeze ! 

M.  WORTH  COLWELL. 


A Self-answering  Conundrum. 

<4\ATHAT  is  the  difference, ” asks  our  friend,  “ be- 
^ ” tween  the  men  who  crowd  a theater  to  see  the 
ballet  and  the  girls  on  the  stage?” 

“ And  the  answer?”  we  inquire. 

“ All  the  girls  look  alike  and  all  the  men  like  a look.” 


Disconcerting. 

VT  IS  disconcerting,  when  you  have  paid  out  five  hun- 
dred dollars  for  a violin  and  forty  dollars  for  a bow, 
to  find  that  you  can’t  make  a squeak  on  the  blamed  thing 
without  a ten-cent  piece  of  rosin! 


THE  “WURST”  IS  YET  TO  COME. 


Kid — “ How  do  you  s’pose  he  keeps  his  teeth  warm  ?” 


The  Lucky  Dog. 

^XNCE  upon  a time  a 
dog  went  to  a 
butcher  shop  and  got  a 
nice  piece  of  bologna 
for  his  dinner.  Then, 
with  the  bologna,  he 
set  out  for  his  kennel. 

Now,  it  happened  in 
going  home  that  the 
dog  had  to  cross  over 
a low  foot  bridge  span- 
ning a stream  of  water. 

But  he  trotted  along  at 
a good  pace,  not  looking 
to  the  right  or  the  left, 
till  he  was  about  half 
way  across  the  bridge, 
when  suddenly  his  at- 
tention was  attracted 
by  a frog  leaping  into 
the  water.  Then  the 
dog  turned  with  bologna 
in  mouth,  and  gazed 
into  the  depths  for  several  seconds;  but  he  could  see 
nothing,  only  mud. 

Being  the  source  of  the  city’s  water  supply,  the  dog’s 
astral  was  invisible.  Thus,  by  the  rarest  good  fortune, 
was  Shep  enabled  to  go  home  and  enjoy  his  dinner  in 
peace. 

Comparative  Values. 

/TTVHERE  is  in  our  neighborhood  a hard-working,  origi- 
a nal-minded  woman  who  weaves  rugs  and  carpets  to 
support  a good-sized  family.  One  of  her  patrons  visited 


BALKED  AT  THE  BUBBLING. 

David  Hayson  (from  Placidville) — “Ye  don’t  mean  ter  tell  me 
there  s runnin’  water  in  ev'ry  room?” 

Hotel  clerk  (amused) — 1 certainly  do,  sir." 

David  Hayson — Then  I guess  as  how  I'll  have  ter  hunt  up  a 
quieter  tavern,  mister.  I could  never  git  no  sleep  in  this  place  with  all 
thet  there  tricklin’  an’  splashin’  poin’  on.” 


her  the  other  day,  and  commented  on  the  delicious  odors 
that  came  from  a big  pot  on  the  stove,  to  which  the  good 
woman  responded,  in  a pleased  tone,  “ It’s  a b’iled  din- 
ner. You  know,  we  have-b’iled  dinner  every  day,  ’most, 
for  father  ain’t  got  no  teeth  left  and  he  can’t  chew  any- 
thing with  a real  bite  to  it.  And  s’long’s  he’s  eighty- 
four  his  last  birthday,  and  store  teeth  comes  so  high,  it 
just  seems  like  it  would  hardly  pay  him  to  get  a set  for 
the  sake  of  a little  chewin’.” 

The  enthusiast. 

THE  MUSIC  of  the  Viennese 

My  Ethel  could  not  fail  to  please — 

It  simply  turned  her  head; 

She  danced  the  “ Merry  Widow  Waltz  ” — 

I’ll  not  deny  it — ’twould  be  false — 

As  if  Vienna  bred. 

But  now  the  “ Widow  ” grows  passe, 

“ The  Waltz  Dream  ” is  her  dearest  play — 

It  is,  upon  my  soul ! 

She’s  danced  so  long  Vienna  style, 

That  now  she  walks — I have  to  smile — 

With  a Vienna  roll.  h.  s.  stuckby. 

Those  Coast,  Winter  Resorts. 

<<IJTUMPH!”  ejaculated  the  Japanese  official,  “we 
could  land  an  army  in  California  within  twenty 

days!” 

“True,”  replied  another  dignitary;  “but  could  we 
keep  it  there  long?  I’ve  read  that  living  expenses  there 
average  twenty  dollars  a day.” 

There  Are  Parallel  Cases. 

Primus — “ That  man  came  to  this  city  forty  years 
ago,  purchased  a basket,  and  commenced  gathering  rags. 
How  much  do  you  suppose  he  is  worth  to-day?” 

Secondus — “ Give  it  up.” 

Primus — “ Nothing;  and  he  owes  for  the  basket.” 


Balloon  Ascension. 


He  Met  His  Match 

By  A.  B.  Lewis 


HE  WAS  engaging  a new  stenographer,  and  he  bit 
off  his  words  and  hurled  them  at  her  in  a way  to 
frighten  any  ordinary  girl  out  of  her  wits. 

“ Chew  gum?”  he  asked. 

“ No,  sir.” 

“ Talk  slang?” 


“THAT  BOY  AGAIN.” 

Teddy — “ Pa,  did  de  Indians  used  ter  cany  keys  around  wid 
’em  fer  ter  open  deir  scalp-locks  ?” 


“ No,  sir.” 

“ Make  goo-goo  eyes  at  the  fellows  when  you’re  not 
busy?” 

“ No,  sir.” 

“ Know  how  to  spell  such  words  as 
* cat  ’ and  ‘ dog  ’ correctly?” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“Chin  through  the  telephone  half  a 
dozen  times  a day?” 

“ No,  sir.” 

“ Usually  tell  the  office  force  how 
much  the  firm  owes  and  all  the  rest  of  its 
private  business  you  learn?” 

“ No,  sir.” 

He  was  thinking  of  something  else  to 
ask  her  when  she  took  a hand  in  the 
matter  and  put  a few  queries. 

“ Smoke  cheap  cigars  when  you’re 
dictating?”  she  asked. 

“ Why — er — no!”  he  gasped,  in  aston- 
ishment. 

‘‘Take  it  out  of  the  stenographer’s 
hide  when  you’ve  had  a scrap  at  home 
and  got  the  worst  of  it?” 

“ Cer-certainly  not!” 

“ Slam  things  around  and  swear  when 
business  is  bad?” 

“ N-never.” 

“ Lay  for  your  employes  with  a club 
when  they  get  caught  in  a block  some 
morning?” 


‘‘No,  indeed.” 

“ Think  you  know  enough  about  grammar  and  punc- 
tuation to  appreciate  a good  stenographer  when  you  get 
one?” 

‘‘I— I think  so.” 

“ Want  me  to  go  to  work,  or  is  your  time  worth  so 
little  that  ” 

‘‘You  bet!”  he  broke  in  enthusiastically.  ‘‘Kindly 
hang  up  your  things  and  let’s  get  at  these  letters.” 

Heard  Every  Spring. 

<<  ^J^HERE  you  fellers  goin’?” 

**  “ Fishin’.  Come  on.” 

“Na;  t’  cold.” 

“ It’s  bound  to  warm  up  by  noon.” 

“ Haven’t  got  no  bait.” 

“ We  got ’nuff.  Come  on.” 

“ Too  much  work  to-day,  boys.” 

“ Be  work  here  after  you’re  dead.” 

“ Fish  ar’n’t  bitin’,  anyway.” 

“ Wind’s  just  right  to-day.” 

“ Wouldn’t  catch  a fin  ’f  I went.” 

“ We’ll  have  a devil  of  a picnic,  anyway.’' 

“ Where’ll  I meet  you  fellers.” 

“ Down  to  Art’s  place.  Drop  in.” 

“ Sure  thing;  ten  minutes.” 


Hubby — “ Why,  he  fairly  took  my  breath  away.” 
Wifey — “ I thought  I missed  something.” 


An  Early  Test 

By  A.  B.  Lewis 


Sign  of  Spring. 

De  Quiz — “ Have  you 
heard  a robin  yet?” 

De  Whiz — “No;  but 
I’ve  seen  a woman,  with 
her  head  tied  up  in  * 
towel,  beating  a carpet 
in  the  back  yard.” 


All  Gone. 

Papa — “ What  became 
of  the  hole  I saw  in  your 
pants?” 

Willie  — “ It’s  worn 
out.” 


SHE  TRUSTED  HIM. 

Mrs.  Casey — “ Shure,  Dr.  Mack,  ye  did  so  well  by  Felix,  takin’  out  his  appindex,  Oi’ve  brought  ye  me 
youngest.” 

Eminent  surgeon — “ Well,  and  what  seems  to  be  the  .matter  with  him?” 

Mrs.  Casey — “ Dandruff,  sor.”  i 


Lady  (to  nurse)  — 
“ Have  you  had  any  chil- 
dren of  your  own?” 
Nurse  — “None  to 

speak  of,  madam.” 


rWAS  close  to  midnight,  and  although  she  had 
yawned  a dozen  times  during  the  past  half  hour,  he 
stayed  on  and  tried  to  get  up  enough  nerve  to  test 
his  fate.  As  the  clock  struck  twelve,  he  took  a long 
breath  and  reached  for  her  hand  and  said,  “ Miss  Bluntly 
— Maude — ever  since  I met  you  at  the  picnic  last  sum- 
mer I have  been  madly  in  love  with  you.” 

“ Is  that  so?”  she  replied,  stifling  a yawn  and  looking 
anxiously  at  the  clock. 

“ Yes,  Maude.  Will  you  marry  me?  Say  that  you’ll 
be  mine  and  make  me  the  happiest  man  in  the  world.” 

“ Why — er — we  haven't  known  each  other  very  long,” 
she  said,  as  she  continued  to  watch  the  clock. 

“ Long  enough  for  me  to  know  that  you  are  the  only 
girl  I could  ever  love.  Say  the  word  and  I’ll  do  any- 
thing— anything — you  may  ask.” 

“ You  will?”  asked  the  girl,  beginning  to  show  some 
interest  in  the  matter  for  the  first  time. 

“ I will,  Maude.” 

“ Anything  I may  ask?” 

“ Anything,  no  matter  what.  I’d  leap  into  a den  of 
lions  for  you;  I’d  throw  myself  into  the  raging  sea  or 
leap  from  a balloon  were  you  to  ask  it.  Will  you  put 
me  to  the  test,  dear?” 


“ Yes,  Harold,”  she  said,  as  she  returned  the  pressure 
of  his  hand  and  uttered  a deep  sigh  of  relief.  “ I prom- 
ise to  be  yours;  and  now  please  get  your  hat  and  make 
tracks  for  home.  I’ve  got  to  get  up  at  five  o’clock  to- 
morrow morning  and  help  mother  with  the  ironing.” 

I 

Got  What  He  Could. 

*¥*HE  GREAT  specialist’s  patient,  after  many  weeks 
* of  treatment,  had  at  last  been  declared  cured  of 
an  “ incurable  ” disease,  and  with  a grateful  feeling  he 
asked  the  physician  the  amount  of  his  bill. 

“That  depends,  my  dear  sir,”  said  the  specialist. 
“ Whenever  I treat  a man  I always  make  it  a point  to 
determine  his  occupation  and  how  large  a family  he  has 
to  support.  Then  I make  out  my  bill  accordingly.  May 
I ask  what  you  do  for  a living?” 

“ I am  a poet,”  replied  the  patient  soulfully.  v 

“ In  that  case,”  said  the  physician,  “ if  you  will  give 
me  the  money  in  cash  now,  it’ll  be  a dollar  and  a half.” 

A Gentle  Reminder. 

<<  ^J'HERE !”  growled  Mr.  Suburbanite,  as  he  stored 
* the  snow  shovel  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
basement;  “ ding  you,  I won’t  have  to  wrestle  with  you 

for  a few  months,  any- 
way!” < 

Turning  suddenly 
around  in  the  dark,  he 
fell  over  something  that 
gave  forth  a verve-tear- 
ing rattle  and  click. 
With  a wild  shriek,  he 
fled  up  the  cellar  stairs 
before  the  lawn-mower 
could  catch  him. 


a 


An  Advantageous  Partnership. 

^THE  FOLLOWING  “paid”  ad.  appeared,  without 
* editing,  in  the  Pinhook  Banner,  of  January  25th: 

“ KR1PPELS  TAKE  NOTUS!!! 

“ The  Undersigned  got  onley  wun  leg  left  leg  an  wun 
arm  rite  arm  an  want  to  git  into  pardnerships  with  wun 
rite  leg  krippel  an  wun  left  arm  krippel  for  exchanging 
ov  bootes  shoes  ovver  shoes  gloves  an  mittens  withem 
savin  this  way  munney  fer  awl  three  on  the  same  cloth- 
ings which  foot  geer  hez  got  fer  to  be  number  10  dubbel 
EE  an  mittens  korrespondin  plees  anser  with  inclosing 
stamps  fer  anser  back  an  harty  good  will  to  awl. 

“ Your  obeedeunt  servent 

“Hennery  Pillocks  Jr.” 

Cold-weather  Pome. 

THIS  morn  I can’t  compose 
In  prose, 

As  good  style  goes, 

Because,  I s’pose, 

My  ink  is  froze. 

I cannot  write — he  knows! — 

Good  prose, 

Or  string  out  words  in  rows. 

Turn  on  the  hose, 

My  ink  is  froze ! 

I mean  th’  hot-water  hose. 

Oh,  Mose ! 

Down  in  the  nose 

Of  th’  inkwell  th’  stub  pen  goes. 

Aha!  It  did  not  sink ; it  rose! 

My  ink  is  froze ! 

Smote  the  icy  ink  some  blows, 

And  bent  its  toes, 

My  good  old  stubby  pen ! 

Oh,  hear  my  tale  of  woes. 

I cannot  write  this  morn. 

My  ink  is  froze  ! 


Gee,  whizz  ! 
My  ink  is  friz. 


JACK  ROBINSON. 


MOST  OFFENSIVE. 

Captain — “ If  I see  your  face  in  my  house  again  I shall  slap  it.” 
Noble  foreigner — “ Ah ! but  it  ees  a punishable  offense.” 

Captain — “ Of  course  it  is.  That  is  why  I want  to  slap  it.” 

Cautious. 

<<  OIR!”  she  said  excitedly,  approaching  the  teller’s 
window  in  the  bank,  “ I am  informed  that  a 
check  I sent  out  the  other  day  has  been  returned,  marked 
‘No  funds.’  What  does  that  mean?” 

“It  simply  means,  m,adam,”  responds  the  courteous 
teller,  “ that  we  couldn’t  pay  the  check.  There  are  no 
funds  to  pay  it.  You  already  have  an  overdraft  of  sixty 
dollars.” 

“ And  you  can’t  pay  the  check?” 

“ No,  madam.  As  I say,  you  have  an  overdraft  of 

sixty  dollars,  and  we  ” 

“ Well,  young  man,  I’ll  say  this  for  you.  At  least 

you  are  honest,  and  it 
is  very  kind  of  you  to 
tell  me  of  the  condition 
of  the  bank.  I will 
take  my  overdraft  and 
put  the  sixty  dollars  on 
deposit  elsewhere.” 


Dad  — “I  wish  I 
could  be  a little  boy 
again,  like  you,  Willie.  ” 
Willie— “ I wish  you 
could,  dad — only  littler, 
of  course.” 

Reasonably  Sure. 

She  — “ Lois  writes 
for  the  magazines.” 

He  — “She’ll  get 
’em  if  she  sends  the 
price.” 


WILD  GAME  ENTHUSIASTS. 


Just  as  Good  as  Ever,  Too. 


The  Way  It  Appeared  to  Her. 


AN  OLD  physician  was  noted  for  his  brusque  manner 
* * and  old-fashioned  methods.  A lady  called  him  in 
to  treat  her  baby,  who  was  slightly  ailing.  The  doctor 
prescribed  castor  oil. 

“ But,  doctor,”  protested  the  young  mother,  “ castor 
oil  is  such  an  old-fashioned  remedy.” 

“ Madam,”  replied  the  doctor,  “ babies  are  old-fash- 
ioned things.” 

The  Meaning  Obvious. 

Teacher — “ What  is  the  meaning  of  the  phrase,  ‘ A 
\7ell-read  man ’?” 

The  usual  silence,  when,  after  a short  while,  Stub 
McGuff  raises  his  hand. 

Teacher — “ Well,  Mr.  McGuff,  what  is  the  meaning?” 

Stub — “ A healthy  Indian.” 


HEN  she  was  five  years  old  her  aunty  took  her  to 
””  church;  it  was  her  first  experience. 

When  she  got  home  her  mother  asked  her  how  she 
liked  the  service. 

“ Oh,  well,  God  was  there  in  a white  nightgown,  and 
he  didn’t  speak  loud  enough  for  the  people  to  hear  what 
he  said;  so  they  kept  saying  over  and  over,  "We  be- 
switch  Thee  to  let  us  hear  Thee,  good  Lord.’  Ididn’t 
like  it  very  much.” 

Located. 

itVTOU  SAY  that  the  cook  assaulted  you?”  inquired 
* the  judge. 

“ He  did — kicked  me,  your  honor.” 

“ Where  did  he  kick  you?” 

“ In  the  pantry.” 


NOTHING  NEW. 

Excited  cow-puncher — “ Look  out,  ladies ! You’ll  get  run  down.” 
Miss  New  York — “ Don’t  be  alarmed.  We’re  used  to  dodging  autos.” 


Song  of  the  Bunco  Man. 

LIVES  of  easy  marks  remind  us  we  can  make  existence 
1 pay; 

Let  us  then  be  up  and  doing  every  Rube  who  comes  our 
way. 

Embarrassing. 

¥gN’T  it  embarrassing,  after  you  have  been  wearing  a 
soft  Fedora  all  winter,  to  try  to  grab  the  dome  of 
your  new  derby  when  you  meet  a lady  friend? 


<<  t¥E’S  quite  well  off,  isn’t  he?” 

**  “Oh,  yes.  Why,  he  has  almost  enough  money 
to  be  in  jail.” 


Dentists  always  look  down  in  the  mouth. 


Of  Course. 

OF  COURSE  it  makes  a striking  display  advertise- 
ment, but  should  not  the  line  be  drawn  on 
“ Woman’s  shirt  waists  half  off”? 

Extra. 

Johnny — “ What  difference  will  leap  year  make?” 
Knickei — “ We  will  have  one  more  cook.” 


<<  CHE’S  a corker!” 

. ^ “Who  is?” 

“Why,  that  girl  who  w’orks  down  at  the  bottl ; 
factory.” 

*¥\AKE  a “tip”  on  a horse  or  stock  and  you’ll  fin  1 
* that  your  balance  in  bank  has  been  tipped  over. 


Hank  and  the  Photographer 

By  N.  H.  Crowell 


M — DON’T  suppose  none  of 
you  fellers  is  bookwormy 
enough  to  notice  how  I’ve 
been  advertisin’  in  th’  mag- 
azeens,”  remarked  old 
Hank,  the  guide,  as  he 
deftly  short-circuited  his 
cud  to  his  left  cheek. 

“ But  I have  all  th’  same. 
I concocted  up  a leetle 
sign,  coverin’  about  everything  from  mud  baths  to  post- 
age stamps,  with  hide-tannin’  an’  restaurant  in  con- 
nection throwed  in.  I got  several  communercations 

from  fellers,  but  none  seemed  to  look  like  business  ex- 

% 

cept  one  from  a feller  named  Archibald  Poggenfritz. 
He  had  sev’ril  initials  left  over,  trailin’  out  behind  his 
name,  like  D.  D.,  double  L,  an’  soon.  Archibald  took 
the  thing  into  his  own  hands  an’  allowed  he  would  arrive 
at  my  camp  about  as  soon  as  steam  an’  mule  power  could 
draw  him. 

“ Sev’ril  days  later  I was  down  th’  trail  a ways,  se- 
ducin’ frogs  for  bait,  when  I see  a feller  cornin’  up 
a-straddle  a mountain  calliope. 

“ ‘ Whoa,  mule!’  says  he,  cornin’  to  a stop.  ‘ Thank 
ye !’ 

“ He  was  an  awful  perlite  feller — I see  that  at  once. 
Then  he  hollers  to  me, 

“ ‘ I’m  lookin’  for  Mr.  Henry  Smith.  Can  you 
direct  me  to  his  place  of 
abode?’ 

“ ‘ Sure  I can!’  says  I.  ‘Ye  I 
go  quarter  of  a mile  up  trail, 
eighth  to  th’  left,  two  jumps  I 
inter  th’  bresh,  an’  a half  circle 
to  th’  north.  It’s  jest  a mile 
from  there.’ 

“ Th’  stranger  looked  like  he 
was  goin’  to  fall  off  th’  mule 
when  he  got  that,  an’  I busted 
right  down  an’  owned  up  to  my 
mistaken  identity  on  th’  spot. 

“ ‘ Is  that  possible?’  he  re- 
marks. ‘ My  name  is  Archibald 
Poggenfritz,  at  yer  service. 

There’s  a mule  hair  in  my  eye. 

Will  you  pick  it  out?’ 

“ We  got  real  intimate  while 
I was  operatin’  on  that  hair,  an’ 
then  I towed  him  up  to  th’  ranch. 

Mr.  Poggenfritz  throwed  hisself 
around  a feed  big  enough  to 
founder  a team  of  horses,  an’ 
aaid  th’  mountain  air  would  un- 
doubtedly assist  his  appetite,  he 


hoped.  I didn’t  make  any  remarks  on  what  my  hopes 
was  on  that  point. 

“ After  supper  I asks,  kinder  casual, 

“ ‘ What’s  yer  petikelar  specialty  in  th’  game  line, 
Mr.  Pog — pog — er — er — stranger?’ 

“ ‘ Oh,  anything  that  has  fins,  feathers,  or  fur — it’s 
all  th’  same  to  me!’ 

“ ‘ Ever  use  frogs  for  bait?’ 

“ ‘ Eh?  No,  never!’  he  says,  sorter  surprised. 

“ ‘ Prefer  a large  bore  to  a small  one?’  I asks. 

“‘If  you  mean  edibles — I never  eat  pork,’  says  he, 
real  tender. 

“ I begun  to  imagine  Mr.  Pog — pog — et  cetera  was 
bughouse  under  th’  hat.  Finally  I says, 

“ ‘ Got  any  newfangled  shootin’  irons?’ 

“ ‘ Certainly!’  he  smiles,  an’  drags  out  a leetle  black 
box  with  a round  cupola  an’  a winder  in  it. 

“ ‘ That’s  a snapshot  machine — a cammery.  Never 
fails  to  get  what  it’s  aimed  at!’ 

“ ‘ Single-barreled,  ain’t  it?’  I says,  squintin’  close. 

“ He  looked  at  me  queer  an’  blowed  his  nose  till  it 
woke  up  th’  mule.  But  he  didn’t  say  anything. 

“ In  ’bout  an  hour  I got  Archibald  stretched  out  on 
his  back,  sound  asleep  in  pink-toed  socks.  He  snored  all 
night  like  a band-saw  cuttin’  through  a section  of  tar 
sidewalk,  but  bright  an’  early  he  popped  up  an’  went  to 
poundin’  his  chest  like  a young  goriller.  I was  some 
scairt  at  first,  till  I see  he  meant  no  harm  only  to  his- 
self. It  was  some  foggy  out, 
an’  th’  perfesser — that’s  what 
he  was — a perfesser — was  anx- 
ious to  start  out,  because  he 
said  maybe  we  could  run  on  to 
something  in  th’  fog  an’  surprise 
it.  He  said  a picture  of  a sur- 
prised grizzly  or  a consternated 
walrus  would  make  a great  hit 
alongside  th’  views  of  stuffed 
critters  back  East. 

“ So  we  slings  in  a little  prov- 
ender an’  he  gathers  his  outfit 
an’  away  we  went.  Crossin’  th’ 
back  lot,  we  run  up  against  a brace 
of  my  heifers,  lookin’  about  th’ 
size  of  an  ice-house,  account  of 
th’  fog.  Perfesser  jolts  me  in 
th’  pit  of  th’  stomach  an’  says, 
“‘Back!  Stan’ back!’ 

“ I stepped  back  an’  wondered 
what  in  Jackson’s  Hole  he  in- 
tended to  do  with  them  cows. 
He  begun  trainin’  that  three- 
legged  cammery  affair,  talkin’ 
to  hisself  durin’  th’  operation. 


THE  VERY  POPULAR  CUPID  FAMILY. 


“ ‘ Phenomenal  luck !’  says  he.  ‘ Wonderful  species, 
too!’ 

“ ‘ What  ye  doin’,  Archi — er — Mr.  Pog — pogheiser?’  I 
asks. 

“‘One  moment!  I must  photo  those  remarkable 
specimens  of  barren-ground  caribou!’ 

“ ‘ Er — er — them  there  caribou  yender,  ye  mean?’ 

“ ‘ Ecksackly  !’  he  says. 

“ He  begun  sneakin’  up  on  them  kine,  luggin’  that 
contraption  as  cautious  as  if  it  was  an  infant.  Purty 
soon  he  plants  it,  an’  rams  his  head  in  under  a black 
cloth  behind  an’  humps  up  his  back  like  a disturbed  cat. 
He  was  pesterin’  away  at  th’  cammery  when  I heard  a 
sorter  low  snore  down  in  th’  fog,  an’  then  I see  th’  white 
nose  of  ol’  Andronicus,  th’  bull.  01’  Andy  had  winded 
th’  perfesser  an’  was  makin’  up  his  mind  to  break  into 
th’  picter. 

I lets  out  a yell  jest  as  Andy  runs  his  tail  up  so 
stiff  that  ten  men  couldn’t  pul!  it  down  an’  emitted  a 
beller  that  rattled  th’  change  in  my  hip  pocket.  Th’ 
perfesser  poked  his  topknot  out  an’  seen  Andy  cornin’, 
an’  right  there  Mr.  Poggenwurst  exhibited  th’  first 
chunk  of  horse  sense  I’d  seen  so  far.  He  clapped  them 
three  legs  together,  grated  his  teeth,  and  skidooed  for 
th’  skyline  at  a sizzlin’  canter.  But  ol’  Andy’d’  a’caught 
him  in  about  seven  more  jumps  if  I hadn’t  landed  on  his 
bugle  with  a big  elm  root  an’  sorter  drawed  his  atten- 
tion. When  I caught  up  with  Archibald,  he  was  still 


A MERE  SIDE  ISSUE. 


Mart  Hatch — “Well,  the  editor  of  the  Banner  says  that  England 
has  got  Japan  fer  a ally.” 

Hiram  Waddle — “ A alley  ! Well,  now,  you’d  think  them  Japs 
would  want  to  be  the  hull  main  street” 


NOTHING  DOING  THERE. 


Parke — “ I’m  looking  for  a nice,  quiet 
place  to  spend  my  vacation  in.” 

Lane—1'1'  You  mean  a place  where  you 
can  have  absolute  rest  — where  there  is 
nothing  doing  ?” 

Parke — “Yes.  Do  you  know  of 
such  a place  ?” 

Lane — “ You  bet ! My  office.  ” 

grittin’  his  teeth  an’  had  his  toes  dug  in  ready  to  run, 
but  I explained  how  I’d  slew  th’  hideous  monster  by 
gougin’  out  both  eyes  with  my  trusty  buttonhook,  an’  he 
breathed  a lot  easier. 

“ * Them  northern  caribou  possess  th’  main  character- 
istics of  th’  carnivory!’  he  says  to  me. 

Yes;  but  their  fur  is  thicker,  don’t  you  think?’ 
I says. 

“ We  wrestled  along  a spell,  stoppin’ every 
leetle  bit  to  overhaul  th’  cammery  an’  see  if  it 
was  still  ready  an’  willin’  to  do  business  when 
persuaded.  We  was  movin’  down  a steep  slope 
’mongst  some  berry  bushes,  when  all  to  once  a 
big  grizzly  riz  right  up  in  front  of  us,  about 
sixty  foot  off.  I begun  sizin’  up  th’  timber 
right  away,  while  th’  perfesser  started  in  un- 
bucklin’ that  picter  machine.  He  looks  around 
an’  notices  me  spittin’  on  both  hands  an’  gazin’ 
up  into  a tall  tree. 

“ ‘ He’s  out  of  focus!  Step  behind  him  an’ 
shoo  him  this  way,  please!’  says  th’  perfesser. 

“‘Are  you  awake,  perfesser?’  I inquires, 
edgin’  closer  to  th’  tree  an’  pullin’  my  belt  two 
notches  tighter  for  luck. 

“ Well,  he  seen  I was  no  bea'r-herder,  so  he 
picked  up  a rock  an’  heaved  it  down  grade  at 
th’  bear,  an’,  by  leather!  he  took  that  critter  a 
jolt  on  th’  eyetooth  that  made  him  think  of  his 
grandma,  I tell  ye!  He  wa’n’t  much  more’n 
a piece  of  a secont  turnin’  around  an’  headin’ 
our  way,  either.  Perfesser,  he  begun  gettin’ 
busier’n  a cat  tryin’  to  catch  two  rats  at  once, 
an’  th’  way  he  jerked  an’  manhandled  that 
cammery  affair  was  amazin’. 

“ I forgot  all  about  tree-climbin’  an’  jest 
nachelly  begun  pumpin’  soft  solder  into  that  bear 
as  fast  as  th’  lever’d  agitate.  He  finally  drop- 
ped, so  close  to  th’  perfesser  that  his  front  claws 
raked  Archibald’s  pants  in  two  from  th’  knees 
down  an’  sprained  all  three  legs  on  th’  cammery. 


H i 


QUITE  NATURAL. 

Crusty  gent — “ Usher,  can’t  you  stop  that 
fool  ? He  is  annoying  every  one  with  his  vio- 
lent applause.” 

Usher — “ No,  sir.  You — er — see,  he  is  the 
author  of  the  play  ” 


Two  Kinds  of  Them. 

THE  end-seat  hog  refused  to  move. 
He  sat  there  like  a log. 

“ Why  should  I give  it  up,”  he  said, 

“ To  another  end-seat  hog?” 


“ But  Poggenbecker  was  tickled  as  a kid  at  a taffy- 
pull. 

“‘Eureky!  Eureky !’  he  yells.  ‘Five  different  as- 
pects an’  a magnifercent  bust  portrait!’ 

“ Of  course  if  he’d  got  all  that  it  wa’n’t  so  bad,  but 
it  certainly  looked  foolish  to  a man  up  a tree.  I asked 
him  if  th’  bear  looked  pleasant,  an’  he  gave  me  a glare 
an’  I shut  up. 

“ After  saunterin’  on  an  hour  or  so  we  come  to  an  on- 
common  strong  bit  of  work.  Th’  perfesser  located  it 
before  I did  an’  got  his  ma- 
chine ready  in  about  nothin’. 

He  had  three  of  th’  biggest 
an’  most  able-bodied  skunks 
I ever  laid  human  eye  on  to 
lined  up  at  th’  foot  of  a big 
tree,  waitin’  to  git  their  pic- 
ters  took. 

“‘Such  amazin’  inner- 
c e n c e ! ’ says  Poggenberg, 
when  I come  up. 

“ ‘ Yes,’  says  I.  ‘ I’ve  no- 
ticed it.  It’s  onusual !’ 

“ ‘ I love  young  porcu- 
pines,’ he  remarks.  ‘These 
haven’t  got  their  quills  yet, 
ye  see.’ 

^“Something  rose  in  my 
neck  that  felt  like  General 
Grant’s  Tomb,  an’  I says, 

“ ‘ They  do  look  cunnin’ !’ 


Concerning  the  Pope. 

A GENTLEMAN,  walking  down  one  of  the  streets  of 
* * Harlem  on  St.  Patrick’s  Day,  overheard  a Catholic 
priest  chaffing  an  Irishman  at  work  in  a trench  with  a 
gang  of  Italians. 

“Well,  Pat!  You  here?  A fine  son  of  old  Ireland 
you  are,  to  be  working  on  this  grand  holiday  of  St.  Pat- 
rick,” said  the  priest.  “ How  do  you  like  your  Italian 
boss?” 

“ Faith,  how  do  you  like  yours?”  responded  Pat. 


“ Then  th’  perfesser  sneaked  a leetle  nearer  to  get  a 
better  shot,  an’  th’  innercent  young  porcupines  stuck 
their  heads  together  and  whispered.  Th’  perfesser  was 
jest  balancin’  on  his  hind  toes  for  a dandy  exposure  when 
th’  scandal  was  oncovered.  I heard  something  click,  an’ 
two  of  th’  perfesser’s  pants’  buttons  whizzed  by  me, 
follerin’  a jump  he  executed  that  would  have  busted  th’ 
pole-vault  record  into  little  strips.  We  separated  rap- 
idly. A sorter  coldness  sprung  up  between  me’n  him 
that  you  could  cut  with  a dull  knife  or  a piece  of  winder 
glass.  Th’  perfesser  yearned  for  home  an’  friends  in 
language  I was  perfectly  familiar  with. 

“ I got  to  camp  first,  an’,  by  usin’  a cocked  gun, 
managed  to  keep  th’  perfesser  off  ontil  I’d  heaved  his 
spare  duds  into  th’  bresh,  where  he  could  get  ’em  with- 
out chloroformin’  me.  Th’  cammery  an’  th’  art  gallery 
he  had  took  was  a complete  ruin  an'  never  left  th’  scene 
of  battle. 

“ Mr.  Poggenfizzle  went  back  East,  disguised  as  a 
section  hand,  an’  I have  yanked  them  there  advertise- 
ments out  of  them  magazeens.  I ain’t  caterin’  to  no 
sech  make  of  humans  nohow.  What?  All  right,  Jake 
— about  nine  fingers  in  a section  of  stovepipe  for  mine!” 


THE  ORIGINAL  “PLYMOUTH  ROCK.” 


iU-^1  il 


To  Arcady. 

COMB,  Daphne,  let  us  two  away. 

Far  from  the  madding  city  fray. 
Let’s  seek  the  beauteous  countryside. 
Where  skies  are  blue,  and  there  abide 
Where  Mother  Nature  rules  supreme 
And  life  becomes  a peaceful  dream. 

Let’s  hie  us  to  the  happy  vale, 

Where  rillets  woo  the  ferny  dale; 

Where  birds  their  tuneful  carols  trill, 
And  lowing  cattle  dot  the  hill. 

And  where  the  twilight’s  dying  glows 
Give  life  the  colors  of  the  rose ; 

Where  lurks  the  nightingale  at  e’en. 

And  Arcady’s  own  freshness  green 
Imparts  to  tired  souls  a zest 
To  win  the  prizes  that  are  best; 

Where  hand  in  hand,  and  cheek  to  cheek, 
We  twain  can  live  on  ten  per  week! 

JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 

At  the  Springs. 

Josh  Wethersby — “Say,  boy!  d’ye  mean 
ter  tell  me  thet  yer  kin  make  me  young  an’ 
spry  ag’in  if  I stop  here  fer  more’n  a 
week?” 

Hotel  clerk — “ Sure  thing,  uncle ! Front, 
show  the  gentleman  to  suite  sixteen.” 

The  New  Fashions. 

Spirit — “ Why  can’t  I get  in?” 

St.  Peter — “No  room;  the  ladies  are  all 
wearing  wide  halos  this  spring.” 


AN  INTERRUPTED  HONEYMOON. 

Tabitha  cat — “ Goodness  gracious,  Tom  ! news  of  our  elopement  must 
have  leaked  out.  They’re  throwing  old  shoes  at  us  1” 


How  To  Look  Rich. 

^J'HIS  is  an  extremely  simple  matter.  Frequently  persons  cf 
* ordinary  means  desire  to  convey  an  impression  of  opulency. 
This  recipe  is  guaranteed,  because  it  has  been  drawn  up  from  years 
of  personal  experience. 

Purchase  two  cases  of  champagne  and  drink  the  contents  of  the 
bottles  as  fast  as  possible.  When  they  have  been  consumed  you  will 
find  that  your  face  has  assumed  a blotted,  purple,  and  ruddy  com- 
plexion. 

Now  buy  a red  necktie  to  match  and  a checkered  vest.  Your  ap- 
pearance will  be  distinctly  epicurean  and  your  disguise  complete. 
Most  people  will  sincerely  think  that  you  are  a multi-millionaire- 


THOSE  DOLLAR  WATCHES 
Dr.  Fudge — “As  I suspected,  you  have  an 
aggravated  case  of  the  automobile  heart” 


No  Resemblance. 

Keeper  of  zoo — “ Have  you  seen  my  black  antelope?” 

Farmer — “ Wa-al,  I jest  seen  a nigger  wench  go  by  with  a man; 
but,  by  goshJ  judgin’  accordin’  to  looks,  who’d  ever  ’ave  thought 
she  was  any  relation  o’  yourn?” 


Her  Two  Lines 

By  Morris  Wade 


B 


Y THE  way,  how  much  a line  do  you  charge 
for  advertising  lost  articles?” 

“ Ten  cents.” 

“ Ten  cents?  Let  me  see — two  lines 
would  be  twenty  cents,  wouldn’t  it?  I guess  I can  put 
what  I want  to  say  in  two  lines.  And  will  you  write  it 
for  me,  please?  I have  on  my  glove,  and  then  you  know 
much  better  than  I just 
what  to  say.  I have  the  idea 
all  right  in  my  mind,  but 
putting  it  on  paper  is  another 
matter.  It’s  a purse  I want 
to  advertise — my  own.  I 
have  lost  it  some  place  and 
I want  to  advertise  it  in  not 
more  than  two  lines, for  there 
wasn’t  a great  deal  in  the 
purse  and  it  wouldn’t  pay 
me  to  spend  much  trying  to 
recover  it.  Still,  the  purse 
was  a present  to  me,  and  I 
would  like  to  have  it  back  on 
that  account,  for  you  know 
that — what  do  I want  to  say  about  it? 


CANDY  PULL. 


Well,  you  might 
say  that  the  owner  values  the  purse  more  for  its  associa- 
tions than  for  its  intrinsic  value.  I believe  that  is  the 
way  they  say  it,  isn’t  it?  It  is  really  quite  a handsome 
purse,  and  it  has  my  monogram  on  it.  You  might  put 
that  in — say  that  the  monogram  of  the  owner  is  on  the 
purse,  and  that  it  was  lost  either  on  Blank  or  K Street, 
or  else  over  on  Willow  Avenue  or  somewhere  near  the 
Union  Station.  I can’t  say  just  where,  for  I didn’t  miss 
it  until  after  I had  been  to  all  of  those  places,  and  I 
know  that  I had  it  before  I went  to  any  of  them.  You 


might  say  that  it  is  a seal-leather  purse  with  a gold 
clasp  and,  as  I say,  my  monogram,  ‘ J.  F.  C.,’  on  one 
side  in  gold  letters,  and  that  it  had  in  it  about  three 
dollars  in  paper  and  silver.  I know  that  there  was  a 
two-dollar  bill  and  quite  a little  silver  and  a few  pen- 
nies, and  a tiny  red  pencil,  such  as  they  use  on  ball 
programs,  and  a small  sample  of  voile,  and  another  of 

blue  liberty  satin,  and  a pearl 
button  I wanted  to  match, 
and  a thread  or  two  of  brown 
sewing-silk  I wanted  to 
match,  and  a little  verse 
of  poetry  entitled  ‘ Remem- 
bered,’ that  I cut  out  of  a 
paper,  and  a tiny  lock  of  my 
baby’s  hair — beautiful  gold- 
en hair  it  is,  just  like  spun 
silk.  You  got  that?  Then 
there  were  other  things  you 
will  want  to  mention  — a 
bit  of  blue  dotted  veiling  I 
wanted  to  match,  and  a small, 
flat  door-key,  and  a very 
tiny  key  that  belongs  to  my  jewel  case,  and  a curious  old 
coin  that  I carry  as  a sort  of  a mascot,  and  a recipe  for 
Lady  Baltimore  cake.  I suppose  that  is  enough  of  the 
contents  to  identify  the  purse  and  prove  that  it  is  mine. 
Then  I think  that  you’d  better  say  that  the  finder  will 
receive  a suitable  reward  by  leaving  the  purse  at  my 
home  or  at  my  husband’s  office,  or  if  the  finder  will  tele- 
phone me  I will  call  for  it.  My  telephone  number  is 
1253,  ring  two,  Thorndyke,  and  my  husband’s  office  tele- 
phone is  52  Maxwell.  You  might  say  that  it  will  do  to 
call  up  either  number,  and  I think  that  you’d  better  add 


THE  FIRST  JOKE. 


This  prehistoric  humorist  has  just  achieved  a jest 
(The  very  firstest,  firstest  ever  sprung), 


2.  And  he  said,  “Now,  just  watch  Willie  when  he  shows  it 
to  the  rest.” 

(It  might  have  been  a good  one  when  ’twas  young). 


THE  FIRST  JOKE— Continued. 


3.  “As  the  comic  cut-up  kid  I’ll  make  a hit  with  all  the 
bunch.” 

(Did  you  ever  hear  a party  talk  like  that  ?) 


4.  But,  alas!  it  toppled  over.  Willie  wasn’t  home  to  lunch. 
(It’s  an  awful  thing  to  have  one’s  joke  fall  flat !) 


that  the  finder  may  keep  the 
two  dollars  if  the  purse  is 
returned ; and  if  it  will  be 
more  convenient  for  the 
finder  to  do  so,  he  or  she 
can  leave  the  purse  at  the 
store  of  my  brother,  Mr. 

John  Blank,  over  on  the  west 
side.  He  comes  over  to  my 
house  every  Sunday  after- 
noon, and  he  could  bring 
it  and  save  the  finder  the 
trouble  of  coming  away  out 
to  where  I live,  although 
you  might  say  that  I will 
be  very  glad  to  pay  the  car- 
fare of  any  one  returning 
the  purse,  and — now  can  you 
get  that  in  two  lines?  I 
wish  you  would,  please,  for  I 
want  to  put  the  advertise- 
ment in  three  papers,  and  if 
I have  to  pay  twenty  cents  to 
each  paper  and  keep  the 
notice  in  a couple  of  days,  it  will  amount  to  quite  a good 
deal.  I suppose  you  couldn’t  get  it  all  in  one  line,  could 
you?  No?  If  I have  to  pay  for  two  lines,  you  might 
add  that  the  person  who  found  the  purse  was  seen  to  pick 
it  up.  Of  course  he  or  she  wasn’t,  but  I have  read  that 
if  you  put  that  in  when  advertising  a lost  article  you 
will  be  more  apt  to  get  it  back ; and  if  I must  pay  for 
two  whole  lines  I might  as  well  use  all  of  both  of  them.” 

Everything  as  It  Should  Be. 

(4  V HAVE  a question  to  ask  you.”  The  proud,  intel- 
JL  lectual  beauty  looked  intently  in  the  face  of  the 
young  man  who  had  sworn  to  love  her  forever. 
“ We  are  in  such  perfect  sympathy,”  she  said,  “ that  it 
is  hardly  worth  while  to  refer  to  a slight  detail,  and  yet, 
as  a mere  formality,  the  matter  would  better  be  referred 


to,  now  that  we  are  about 
to  be  married,  and  the  long 
evenings  are  ahead  of  us — 
evenings  during  which  we 
can  discuss  the  manifold 
questions  of  the  day.” 

He  smiled  brightly.  “I’m 
only  too  delighted,  dear,” 
he  replied,  “ to  satisfy  your 
curiosity.  Pray  proceed.” 
Smiling  lightly,  she  saic|, 
“Very  well,  then.  This  is 
the  question  to  which  I am 
sure  you  must  have  given 
earnest  and  prayerful 
thought.  In  which,  among 
all  of  Ibsen’s  plays,  do  you 
consider  the  great  master 
reached  the  height  of  his 
genius?” 

“ Do  you  wish  to  know 
my  real  opinion?” 

“I  do.” 

Lowering  his  voice,  he 
said,  “ Darling,  the  Ibsen  cult  makes  me  very  weary. 
He  never  wrote  anything  that  can  be  remotely  consid- 
ered a work  of  genius.  He  is  a freak.  There’s  noth- 
ing in  him.  I ” 

“ Do  you  really  mean  that?”  She  strained  him  to  her 
heart. 

“ I do,  indeed.  Does  it  please  you?” 

And  she  replied,  “ Ah,  I cannot  tell  how  much ! I 
was  afraid  you  might  appreciate  him  even  in  a remote 
way.  And  I knew  if  you  did  you  might  rudely  break  in 
at  times  on  my  contemplation  of  his  immensity.  Now 
nothing  can  happen  to  draw  us  apart.” 

THOMAS  L.  MASSON. 

Mooney — “ Faith,  Oi  cud  die  listenin’  to  Tom  Calla- 
han play  th’  poipes.” 

Donohue — “ Fer  meself,  Oi’d  prefer  a paceful  ind.” 


Or  K 


5.  They  used  it  as  a tombstone  when  they  stuck  him  in  the 
ground 

(They  said  it  looked  appropriate  that  way). 

They’d  never  seen  a tombstone,  but  their  reasoning  was 
sound. 

(And  I *aw  that  joke  in  Life  the  other  day  !) 


BEAUTIFUL  THOUGHT. 

“Why  do  you  weep?”  I said, 

For  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

She  looked  up  timidly, 

Quite  taken  by  surprise. 

Then,  through  her  falling  tears, 

A tender  smile  revealing, 

She  simply  pointed  to 

The  onions  she  was  peeling. 

LUE  P.  VERNON. 

What  Pat  Was  After. 

OpHE  Little  Wabash  River  was  on  a rampage.  Its 

* waters  were  all  over  the  bottom-lands  and  many 
farms  were  inundated,  in  some  cases  the  water  coming 
up  to  and  all  around  the  farmers’  homes.  Among  the 
houses  to  be  completely  surrounded  was  that  of  one  Pat- 
rick O’Brien.  A neighbor  of  Pat’s,  rowing  a boat  down 
the  middle  of  the  road  during  the  flood,  perceived  Pat 
wading  around  out  in  the  back  yard,  a tin  bucket  in  one 
hand  and  a long  stick  in  the  other.  He  was  advancing 
cautiously  and  at  the  same  time  poking  about  in  the 
water  with  the  stick  at  every  step.  Wondering  what 
Pat  could  be  about,  the  rower  shipped  oars  and  called 
out, 

**  What’s  the  matter,  Pat?” 

“ B’jabers,  an’  I’m  a-lookin’  fer  me  well,  to  git  a 
pail  o’  wather  out!”  was  O’Brien’s  reply. 

The  Poor  Old  Beggar. 

■'1'HE  prosperous  wholesale  grocery  dealer  had  sold  out 

* his  business  preparatory  to  departing  for  the  West 
to  live.  He  was  reflecting,  the  next  morning,  on  the 
prospect  of  getting  a good  price  for  his  house,  which  the 
day  before  he  had  advertised  for  sale,  when  the  doorbell 
jingled  merrily. 

“Sir,”  said  the  maid,  putting  her  head  in  at  the 


library  door  a moment  later,  “ it’s  the  old  beggar  from 
the  corner  near  your  store,  sir.” 

“ Old  Jo,  the  beggar,  eh?”  rejoined  the  retired  busi- 
ness man,  taking  from  his  pocket  a coin.  “ I presume 
the  wretched  old  fellow  missed  my  customary  contribu- 
tion this  morning  and  is  come  for  it.  Here,  give  him 
this  dollar.” 

The  maid  went  away  with  the  money  and  again  re- 
turned. 

“ I gave  the  dollar,  sir,”  said  she,  “ and  he  seemed 
very  thankful  for  it;  but  he  says  he’d  like  to  speak  a 
moment  with  you  on  business,  sir.” 

“ What  business  can  that  old  beggar  have  with  me?” 
“ He  says  that  if  you  can  bring  the  price  of  this  house 
down  to  twenty  thousand  dollars  cash,  he’d  buy  it,  sir!” 

Dead  Easy.  . 

IT  IS  not  hard  to  write  amusing  things. 

You  only  sit  and  take  your  pen  in  hand — 

Or  your  typewriter,  if  you  understand 
How  it  is  worked — and  wait  until  the  wings 
Of  fancy  stir  the  Heliconian  springs 
Of  light  and  joy,  imagination,  and 
Wait  till  your  brain  to  fever  heat  is  fanned, 

And  then  reel  off  the  stuff  that  tickles  kings. 

It  is  not  hard.  Why,  it  is  just  as  easy ! 

A child  can  do  it  with  supreme  delight. 

The  one  prerequisite  for  sayings  breezy 
, Is  just  to  learn  to  hold  a pen  and  write ; 

And  then,  unless  your  brain  is  very  cheesy, 
You’re  “ it,”  “ the  real  a joker  out  of  sight. 

WILLIS  LEONARD  CLANAHAN. 


A HALF-PORTION. 
Countryman — “ Fifteen  cents  fer  a hair-cut?” 
Barber — “ Right  you  are  !” 

Countryman — - Wa-al,  take  off  abaout  ten 
cents’  worth.” 


TEAM  WORK, 


FOOTBALL  TERM. 

Carrying  the  bawl  around  the  end  for  a long  run. 


A spanking  team. 


No  Hair-splitting. 

<(  OUT,”  argues  the  exasperated  automobilist,  who 
has  been  haled  before  the  country  justice,  “ you 
haven’t  the  shadow  of  a reason  for  arresting  and  trying 
me.  Why,  man,  my  machine  was  standing  stock  still. 
Absolutely  motionless ! Even  the  constable  will  tell  you 
that.” 

“ The  automobull  was  a-standin’ still  all  right,”  ac- 
knowledges the  constable,  “ but  its  engine  was  runnin’ 
full  blast,  an’  it  sounded  just  like  they  do  when  they  go 
forty  miles  a hour.” 

“But  my  machine  was  not  moving!  Judge,  this  is 

prepos” 


“ The  evidence  is  all  against  you,”  coldly  decided  the 
justice.  “Twenty  dollars  and  costs.  This  is  not  the 
time  or  place  for  idle  technicalities.” 

Where  Pat  Made  a Mistake. 

^XH,”  s°bbed  Mrs.  Casey,  “ some  wan  told  me  hus- 
band  Pat  that  he  c’d  have  his  pants  pressed  be 
lettin’  th’  steam  roller  run  over  thim,  an’  Pat  troid  th’ 
scheme!” 

“ Well,  phy  do  ye  cry?”  asked  her  friend,  Mrs.  Gar- 
rity. 

“ Oh !”  wailed  the  wife,  “ Pat  forgot  t’  take  th’  pants 
off  first!” 


'USED  TO  HER  BURDEN. 


Roonan — “Casey  only  dead  two  months  an’  there  goes  th’  woife  av  him  wid  a ‘Merry 
Widdy  ’ shappough  !” 

Noonan — “ Yis!  An’,  d’ye  moind,  she  carries  it  as  aisy  as  she  used  to  th’  basket  av  laun- 
dry befoor  Casey  dol’d  an’  lift  her  his  loife-insurance  mooney  l” 


A PROPER  REBUKE. 

District  leader — “ Cheer  up,  Dempsey  ! Yure  luck’ll  turn.  Ye  can’t  down  th’ Oirish.  Hov  ye  noticed  lately  how 
manny  sinators  at  Albany  hov  Oirish  names?” 

Dempsey — “ ’Sh  ! Don’t  be  shpreadin’  shcandal,  Terence  !” 


COMFORTING  NEWS  OF  HIS  SON. 


“ Professor,  how  is  that  boy  of  mine  getting  along  ? Does  he 
seem  ambitious?” 

“ I should  say  so ! Most  ambitious  boy  I ever  saw — to  get  out 
of  school.” 


First  of  May. 

TO  MOVE  or  not  to  move:  that  is  the  question. 
Whether  ’tis  better  in  this  flat  to  suffer 
The  slings  and  arrown  of  an  outraged  landlord, 
Or  to  take  one  with  seven  light  rooms  in  Harlem, 
Without  an  elevator.  To  pack,  to  move; 

No  more;  and  by  that  move  to  say  we  end 
The  subway  jar  and  other  natural  shocks 
This  flat  is  heir  to — ’tis  a consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wished.  To  pack,  to  move ; 

To  move,  perchance  to  worse ! Ay,  there’s  the  rub! 
For  in  that  Harlem  flat  what  ills  may  come 
When  we  have  given  up  this  present  lease, 

Must  give  us  pause.  There’s  the  respect 

That  makes  this  Home,  Sweet  Home  so  hard  a life. 

For  who  would  bear  the  troubles  of  a flat, 

The  janitor’s  tongue,  the  proud  cook’s  contumely, 

The  smells  of  others’  meals,  the  milk’s  delay, 

The  violence  of  tradesmen,  the  steam  heat 
(That  always  is  too  little  or  too  much). 

When  he  himself  might  a quietus  have 
In  a small  boarding-house?  Who’d  stay  here  in 
gloom, 

But  that  the  dread  of  Harlem,  far  away, 

That  undiscovered  country  where  is  born 
The  frisky  goat  and  sad-faced  strap-hanger, 
Traveling  hours  on  end,  puzzles  the  will 
And  makes  us  rather  keep  the  flat  we  have 
Than  move  to  others  that  we  know  not  of. 

Thus  moving-day  makes  cowards  of  us  all, 

And  thus  the  happy  thought  of  better  quarters 
Is  sicklied  o’er  with  thought  of  broken  things 
When  enterprising  movers  pitch  and  tumble 
The  barreled  bric-a-brac  and  boxed-up  glass, 

And  we  dare  not  bring  action ! carolyn  welia 


He  Stayed. 

<<  ^ATHAT!  going  to  leave  us  so  soon,  Thomas?” 
“Sorry,  sir;  but  I must  tell  you  as  ’ow'I 
can’t  put  up  with  the  missus  any  longer.” 

“ But,  Thomas  (appealingly),  think  how  long  Tve 
put  up  with  her!” 


LIGHT-OPERA  IDEALS. 


Mrs.  Constable  Shufflesopp— “ joshuay  ! be  ye  loony  ? Why  are  ye  rigged  out  in  thet—  the 

Constable  Shufflesopp — “ Mayor’s  orders  fer  th’  beautifyin’  uv  th’  town.  He  sez  he  seed  gal  cops 
like  this  ter  a show  down  ter  N’  York,  an’  they  wuz  mighty  ornamental.” 


He  Furnished  Proof 

By  A.  B.  Lewis 


tt  WTVARE,  please.” 

“I  paid  my  fare.” 

“ If  you  paid  your  fare  I wouldn't  be  here 
asking  you  for  it.  ” 

“ Oh,  you’re  one  of  those  bright  conductors  who  never 
make  a mistake,  eh?” 

“ I’m  bright  enough  to  know  you’re  trying  to  beat 
the  company.” 

“ Yes?” 

“ That’s  what  I said.” 

“You  run  right  along  now.  I want  to  finish  this 
story  in  the  paper  about  the  fight.” 

“ What  fight  is  that?” 

“ Why,  a fresh  conductor  thought  he’d  bulldoze  a pas- 
senger out  of  a second  fare,  and  he  got  an  awful  thrash- 
ing.” 

“ You  can’t  bluff  me.” 

“ That’s  what  the  passenger  said  as  he  handed  out  an 
upper-cut.” 

“ Then  you  won’t  pay,  eh?” 

“ Not  a second  fare.” 


“ Say,  when  did  you  get  on  this  car,  anyway?” 

“ About  a week  ago,  it  seems  to  me.  I got  on  at 
Beverly  Street.” 

“ Oh,  you  did.  Maybe  you  can  mention  a few  things 
that  happened  to  show  you  got  on  away  back  there?” 

“ Sure  thing.  At  Blank  Street  four  people  got  on, 
and  you  only  rang  up  three  fares.  At  James  Place  you 
took  a quarter  from  a woman  and  bluffed  her  out  of  the 
change.  At  Nelson  Avenue  you  collected  six  fares,  but 
the  company  will  only  get  three.  At  Lanly  Street 
you  ” 

But  at  this  juncture  the  conductor  seemed  to  have 
very  important  business  on  the  back  of  the  car.  At  any 
rate,  he  hurried  back  there,  and  for  the  next  twenty 
minutes  he  was  as  flustrated  as  an  old  maid  about  to 
make  a leap-year  proposal. 

First  bench-warmet — “ We  want  ter  look  out  fer  dem 
dog  perlice.  ” 

Second  bench-warmer— ‘ ‘ Nuttin’  doin’.  We  ain’t 
got  a cent.” 


WRONG  NAME. 

Seedy  man  (excitedly  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets) — “B’  gobbs ! I have  lost  my  purse.  I simply  must  go 

to  Plymouth,  and  the  train  leaves  in  three  minutes.  B’  gobbs!  I hate  to  ask  you,  but  would  you  mind” 

Conductor  (affably) — “You  have  made  a mistake.  I am  not  B.  Gobbs;  I am  O.  Hill.  B.  Gobbs  is  conductor  on 
the  next  freight.  You  have  just  time  to  catch  it  by  getting  off  now.” 


B 


A REASSURANCE. 

“ Dear  me.1  what’s  the  matter,  sonny  ?” 

“ Boo-hoo  ! Here  I’ve  bin  a-fishin’ all  day  an’ 
ain't  caught  nothin’. ’’ 

“Well,  nevermind  ; you’re  bound  to  catch  some- 
thing when  you  get  home.” 

LITTLE  CHESTNUTS. 

^pHACKERAY  tells  us  of  an  Irishwoman  begging  alms 
. from  him,  who,  when  she  saw  him  put  his  hand  in 
his  pocket,  cried  out,  “ May  the  blessing  of  God  follow 
you  all  your  life!”  But  when  he  only  pulled  out  his 
snuff-box,  she  immediately  added,  “ And  never  overtake 
ye.” 

■'  “ Lenny,  you’re  a pig,  ” said  a father  to  his  little  five- 
year-old  boy.  “Now,  do  you  know  what  a pig  is, 
Lenny?” 

“ Yes,  sir;  a pig’s  a hog’s  little  boy.” 

C.  E.  Showalter  (eleven  years  old),  Roanoke,  Va. 

EQUAL  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

IJALPH  had  been  in  the  habit  of  begging  a penny 
from  his  father  every  few  days,  with  which  to  buy 
a fresh  doughnut  from  the 
bakery  next  door. 

One  day  he  had  made 
his  purchase  and  was  leav- 
ing the  bakery,  when  the 
proprietor  noticed  that  the 
penny  had  a hole  in  it,  and 
exclaimed,  “ Bring  that 
doughnut  back,  Ralph. 

Your  penny  has  a hole  in 
it!” 

The  little  fellow  prompt- 
ly replied,  “ Well,  so  has 
your  doughnut!”  and  closed 
the  door  after  him,  leaving 
the  proprietor  to  figure  out 
who  had  made  the  best  of 
the  situation. 

W.  U.  Townsend, 

Bolivar,  Mo. 


Literary  Notes. 

OOKS  are  booming  again.  One  of  the  six  best  cel- 
lars in  Kansas  this  season  is  the  cyclone  cellar. 

We  print  this  joke  just  to  get  it  out  of  the  way. 

A popular  cereal  in  Scotland  this  year,  for  which 
there  is  even  a greater  demand  than  for  the  works  of 
Barrie  or  Stevenson,  is  oatmeal.  Our  reason  for  print- 
ing this  joke  is  the  same  as  above. 

A story  that  has  attracted  much  attention  among  vis- 
itors to  the  metropolis  this  winter  is  the  top  story  of  the 
Flatiron  Building.  It  is  lofty  in  character  and  exceed- 
ingly breezy.  We  don’t  Know  why  we  have  printed  this 
joke,  but  here  it  is. 

If  you  are  looking  for  a book  that  is  full  of  live  char- 
acters, all  of  them  intensely  human  and  thoroughly  of 
to-day,  you  will  find  the  March  issue  of  the  telephone 
book  contains  all  that  you  seek,  although  some  readers 
prefer  the  current  edition  of  the  city  directory.  This 
isn’t  a joke,  but  a solid  fact. 

Word  has  been  received  in  this  city  of  the  death  of 
William  Shakespeare.  Mr.  Shakespeare  was  the  author 
of  several  poems  of  note  and  a play  called  “ Hamlet” 
that  was  produced  in  New  York  last  winter  to  indifferent 
houses.  He  was  also  the  writer  of  a large  number  of 
popular  quotations.  His  decease  leaves  Mr.  Bernard 
Shaw  the  only  considerable  literary  personage  in  England. 

A Western  critic  has  been  at  considerable  pains  to 
prove  that  Daniel  Webster  did  not  write  Webster’s  Dic- 
tionary. His  argument  in  the  main  is  not  convincing, 
but  his  assertion  that  the  book  does  not  read  like  one  of 
Webster’s  speeches,  lacks  coherence  and  continuity  of 
thought,  is  impressive,  and  to  some  minds  we  should 
think  would  prove  conclusive. 

A collection  of  short  biographies  of  President  Taft, 
ex-President  Roosevelt,  Hon.  James  R.  Garfield,  Mr. 
Jacob  Riis,  W.  J.  Loeb,  and  Surgeon-General  Rixey  is 
announced  for  early  publication,  under  the  alluring  title 
of  “ Me  and  My  People.”  It  is  expected  to  prove  as 
popular  as  “Plutarch’s  Lives,”  or  that  old  favorite, 


Rab  and  His  Friends.” 


JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 


ADULTERATED  FODDER. 

Maud — “ I have  my  suspicions  about  that  bale  of  hay.  I think  it’s  adulterated  with  rails 
and  thistle  and  barbed-wire  fencing.” 

Madge — “ Oh,  nonsense  ! It  must  be  all  right,  Maud.  It  bears  the  pure-food  inspector’s 
tag,  which  in  itself  is  sufficient  to  guarantee  it.” 


10 


Our  American  Quarter. 

^AflTH  a gentle  allegro-non-troppo 
” ^ movement,  the  French  count 
descended  from  the  top  of  the  Seeing 
New  York  auto  and  advanced  to  meet 
us. 

“Well,”  we  said  blithely,  “what 
do  you  think  of  our  village?” 

“Ah!”  he  replied,  “ ze  American 
colony — ze  American  quarter  of  ze 
greatest  city  in  ze  world ! — it  is  su- 
pherb!  It  is  ze  one  grand  place!  It 
is  exquisite!  But  it  has  ze  one  fault 
— it  has  too  many  of  ze  odars.  It  is 
fill  wiz  ze  odar  of  zis  thing  and  wiz  ze 
odar  of  zat  thing;  it  is  fill  wiz  ze  odar 
of  ze  rose  and  wiz  ze  odar  of  ze  tur- 
nip; it  is  fill  wiz  ze  odar  of  ze  wine 
and  ze  quail-on-toast,  and  wiz  ze  odar 
of  ze  beer  and  ze  goolash.  Ah,  me! 
I fear  zat  ze  American  quarter  has 
more  zan  ze  twenty-five  ’cent!” 


A COMPROMISE. 


Louise — “ Wouldn’t  yer  give  up  smokin’,  Chimmy— not  even  fer  de  sake 
uv  me  an’  de  child  ?” 

Jimmy — “Yes-s-s-s,  Louise;  fer  your  sake  an’ de  brat’s  I gives  it  up — if 
yer  don’t  ax  me  ter  t’row  away  de  butt." 


With  the  Usual  Thanks. 

'E'DITOR  “ Perfect  Ladies’  Com- 
panion,” 

Dear  sir:  Would  you  be  good  enough  to  print  the 
inclosed  poem  in  your  esteemed  publication  at  your  usual 
rates?  Respectfully,  A.  J.  Poet. 

A.  J.  Poet,  Esq., 

Dear  sir:  I would  be,  but  the  poem  isn’t.  Respect- 
fully, The  Editor. 

Protest. 

THERE  was  a puir  laddie  ca’ed  Patton; 

Sae  worrit  was  he  to  pit  fat  on, 

That  he  ganged  to  his  bed, 

And  on  eggs  was  he  fed, 

Till  a hen  cried,  “ It’s  time  he  were  sat  on!” 


At  the  Liars’  Club. 

A NANIAS  had  just  gotten  off  one  he  thought  rather 
* * good. 

“ That’s  nothing,  ” said  the  new  member.  “ Just  be- 
fore I came  here  Mississippi  sent  a colored  delegate  to 
the  Democratic  national  convention.” 

And  amid  a sickening  silence  Ananias  unbuckled  his 
championship  belt  and  gave  it  to  the  newcomer. 

He  Knew. 

Teacher — “Johnny,  what  is  an  aeronaut?” 

Johnny  (who  has  had  experience) — “An  aeronaut  is 

a man  who  goes  up  in  a 
balloon,  ^gives  you  the 
hook,  throws  sand  on  you, 
and  then  leaves  you  up  in 
a tree.”  • 

A Truthful  Prisoner. 

<<  1JOOR  fellow!”  said 
* the  sympathetic 
visitor  to  the  prisoner  at 
Ossining,  “would  you 
mind  telling  me  what 
brought  you  here?” 

“The  Peekskill  local, 
ma’am,”  said  the  prisoner 
respectfully,  “ leavin’  the 
Grand  Central  Station  at 
two-ten.” 


When  the  plumber  sends 
in  his  little  bill  to  the 
auto  repair-shop,  the  graft- 
ers all  snicker. 


Spring  Fever. 

A MAN  on  third;  two  batters  out; 

Two  runs  would  win  the  game. 

If  he  could  make  a home-run  clout, 
Deathless  would  be  his  fame. 

He  hitched  his  grimy  trousers  up 
And  spqt  upon  his  hands; 

He  pulled  his  cap  athwart  his  eye 
And  faced  the  howling  stands. 

“Three  balls!”  the  fans  yelled  with 
delight. 

“ Two  strikes !”  the  umpire  said. 
He  knocked  the  next  ball  out  of 
sight — 

And  then  fell  out  of  bed. 


Why,  of  Course. 

*I*HE  edicor  of  an  agricultural  paper 
* was  grumbling  about  a puzzling 


REASONABLE  EXPECTATION. 


question  he  had  received  from  a 
city  man  who  had  recently  removed 
to  the  country.  The  inquiry  was  this: 

“ Will  you  kindly  tell  me  how  long  cows  should  be 
milked?” 

The  office  boy,  passing  near,  heard  his  superior  re- 
peating the  question  aloud. 

“ ’Scuse  me,  boss,”  he  said;  “ but  w’y  don’t  yer  tell 
him  jes’  de  same ’s  short  cows?” 


Mother — “Willie,  this  is  Mr.  Wise,  your  new  tutor.” 

Small  boy — “Well,  why  doesn’t  he  toot?” 

“ Sure!  Our  anniversary,  Margaret  dear”  (pretend- 
ing to  have  remembered  it  all  the  time)-. 

“No  such  thing”  (frigidly).  “It’s  the  day  you 
promised  to  nail  the  leg  on  that  old  kitchen  table!” 
Lysander  paled,  tried  to  square  himself  on  the  anni- 
versary blunder,  failed  utterly,  and  the  fireworks  were  on. 


Bliss. 


<Cf  YSANDER  ” 
this  is?” 


(sweetly),  “do  you  know  what  day 


OVERHEARD  IN  THE  NEXT  BOX. 

“Why  have  they  given  up  having  monkey  dinners  at 
Newport  ?” 

“The  question  of  precedent  became  too  involved.” 


Weakness. 

POOR  weakling!  Pensive  in  the  corner  there, 
He  runs  the  gamut  of  the  fancies  wild; 
Clutching  within  his  futile  grasp  the  chair. 

While  men  ejaculate,  “ How  like  a child!” 

Content  with  feeble  finger-tips  to  play, 

To  pull  his  scanty  hair  or  hug  his  knees, 

With  toothless  bite  he  munches  all  the  day, 

Or  mumbles  meaningless  soliloquies. 

And  friendly  persons  try  to  humor  him 

With  nods  and  smiles  and  pleasantries  inane 
But  still  he  nurtures  each  caprice  and  whim, 
Eccentric  as  a tempest-veering  vane. 

He  weeps — and  yet  knows  not  for  whom. 

He  laughs — the  reason’s  not  within  his  ken. 

And  now  and  then  he  totters  ’cross  the  room 
For  nothing — but  to  totter  back  again. 

Alarmed  by  shadows  that  about  him  play. 

By  dreams  and  unrealities  beguiled. 

To-morrow  he  confounds  with  yesterday. 

Dupe  of  his  senses — ah ! how  like  a child ! 

How  like  the  infant  actor  on  the  stage 

Of  life— his  childish  grief,  his  childish  glee; 

But  people  know  the  reason  is  his  age — 

To-day  he  is  just  one  year  old,  you  see. 

WILLIAM  F.  MCCORMACK 

News  Items. 

AN  ACTOR  in  Joque  has  a fur-coated  tongue. 

An  absent-minded  dentist  in  Quoit  put  gold  crowns 
on  the  teeth  of  his  saw. 

A paying  teller  in  a bank  at  Kramp  is  troubled  with 
two-dollar-billiousness. 


Her  Highness,  the  Stenographer  Countess 

By  M.  Worth  Colwell 


MR.  SPOTZ  was  running  his  hands  through  his  hair 
shampoo-wise  because  his  stenographress  had 
suddenly  left. 

“ Ten  dozen  letters  to  get  out  to-day  and  no  chauffeur- 
lady  to  run  the  typewriter!  What  shall  I do?”  he  ex- 
claimed. 

Just  then  a young  miss,  with  kalsomined  hair,  in  a 


This  kid,  having  read  in  the  game  laws  that  fishing 
with  more  than  one  rod  or  pole,  held  in  the  hand,  was 
finable,  set  about  to  find  a way  to  overcome  this  obstacle. 
His  remarks  on  reading  the  law  were,  “ Gee  ! dat’s  dead 
easy  ! ” 

Fluffy-Ruff-hous^  costume,  entered  the, office,  chewing  a 
popular  brand  of  chewing-gum. 

“ Need  a key-puncher?”  was  her  inquiry. 

Mr.  Spotz  bade  her  have  a chair.  Upon  investiga- 
tion, he  learned  that  she  had  escaped  from  Taffy’s  Big 
School,  where  she  had  learned  to  talk  stenography  ($7.59 
puts  you  through). 

The  young  lady  was  lined  up  in  front  of  the  type- 
writer and  Mr.  Spotz  began  to  dictate.  She  did  not  take 
down  what  he  said  in  shorthand,  for  he  doubted  if  she 
could  transcribe  her  own  hieroglyphics.  In  dictating  he 
made  an  effort  to  assist  her  in  punctuation.  When  the 
letter  was  finished,  it  read  as  follows: 

“ Mr.  B.  A.  Gudething, 

“ Hotel  Dubb,  City. 

“ Dear  sir:  Looking  over  our  leadger  comma  I notice 
that  in  your  account  don’t  abbreviate  their  is  an  out- 
standing eyetem  of  $14.34  in  figures  comma  witch  1 
thrust  you  will  remit  by  return  male  parenthesis  as  we 
wish  to  clothes  out  all  old  outstanding  accounts  period 
new  paragraph. 


“ I beg  to  call  2 your  attention  the  knew  line  -of 
european  goods  we  are  displaying  in  our  windows  and 
show  hyphen  cases  dash  a line  of  goods  that  will  a peal 
to  your  good  taste  full  stop  next  sentence.  We  have 
just  recieved  a large  Pareesian  Capitol  P consignment 
and  have  sum  bargains  at  fenominally  low  prices  ex- 
clamation mark.  As  the  saying  goes,  quotation  marks 
a word  to  the  wise  close  quotes  that’s  the  end  of  the  sen- 
tence another  paragraph  will  you  not  call  around  two  see 
us  at  your  leezure  interrogation  point. 

“Trusting  to  be  still  favored  with  your  patronidge 
as  in  the  passed,  I remain  comma 

“ Very  resp.  yours” 

Cheating'  the  Modern  Boswell. 

LIVES  of  all  great  men  remind  us 
Things  that  we  had  best  avoid. 

One  is:  Not  to  leave  behind  us 

Letters  that  should  be  destroyed! 

Up-to-date  Ads. 

A RESPECTABLE  widow  desires  washing. 

**  Wanted — A servant  who  can  cook  and  dress  chil- 
dren. 


A WELL-CHOSEN  OCCUPATION. 


“ Oi  see  yure  b’y  Tommy  is  sellin’  papers,  Mrs.  Mur- 
phy. Ain’t  he  young  fer  it  ?” 

“ He  is  thot,  Mrs.  Casey  ; but  Oi  hod  t’  give  him  some- 
thin’ t’  do  t’  kape  him  off  th'  shtreets.” 


Tire  Biography  of  Bill 

By  N.  H.  Crowell 


AT  THE  age  of  two  my  attention  was  first  directed 
toward  Bill.  He  had  just  arrived  and  was 
putting  up  a loud  holler  for  lunch.  For  one  so 
young,  Bill  had  a fine  tenor  voice,  and  the  use 
of  it  appeared  to  afford  him  unusual  pleasure — more 
pleasure  than  we  had,  in  fact. 

Bill  exhibited  a marked  dislike  for  me  from  the  be- 
ginning. I presume  this  was  because  I was  by  long  odds 
the  best  looking.  As  I remember  Bill  at  that  period,  he 
had  a nose  about  the  size  and  complexion  of  a canned 
cherry,  and  it  was  suspended  midway  betwixt  a pair  of 
eyes  that  reminded  me  of  spoiled  grapes.  I do  not  re- 
call noticing  Bill’s  mouth  when  closed — except  once.  On 
that  occasion  I had  been  induced  by  a bribe  to  insert 
my  finger  in  Bill’s  face  for  the  purpose  of  feeling  his 
new  fangs.  Bill  recognized  me  during  the  operation 
and  shut  down  for  keeps,  retaining  me  in  a fond  em- 
brace until  dad  got  a screw-driver  and  made  him  loosen 
up  his  features.  I never  had  as  much  faith  in  Bill  after 
that.  I imagine  he  has  never  placed  full  trust  in  me 
since  also,  because  I 
have  never  been  able 
to  borrow  a dollar 
from  him. 

Bill  grew  fast — • 
like  a hound  - pup. 

His  appetite  worked 
from  seven  in  the 
morning  till  the  same 
time  next  day.  As  a 
consequence,  he  grew 
big  and  beefy,  and 
acquired  a head  like 
a Hubbard  squash. 

When  he  was  three 
years  of  age  he  made 
the  harrowing  discov- 
ery that  I was  a miser. 

I had  hoarded  up  the 
stupendous  sum  of  a 
dollar  and  thirty-seven 
cents  in  cold  coin. 

Bill  broke  that  bank, 
and  dissipated  its  con- 
tents among  his  youth- 
ful friends.  I made 
an  attempt  to  impress 
upon  Bill  the  enor- 
mity of  his  crime,  but 
he  grew  denser  the 
longer  I argued,  and 
the  thing  ended  in  the 
woodshed,  r with  dad 
enacting  the  role  of 
the  villain,  Legree. 


Time  flew  on  and  it  became  Bill’s  turn  to  visit  the 
woodshed  where,  in  the  past,  I had  shed  so  many  bitter 
tears  to  the  tune  of  the  rollicking  shingle  or  the  lath. 
It  is  a bright  spot  in  my  memory.  I love  to  dwell  upon 
it.  Bill  had  heaved  a marble  at  the  clock,  and  the 
marble  had  knocked  time  out  of  the  latter.  With  an 
instinctive  motion  dad  gathered  me  in,  but  my  vehement 
protests  finally  convinced  him  that  for  once  he  was  in 
error.  Reluctantly  he  released  me  and  formed  an  at- 
tachment to  Bill.  I followed.  Being  a casual  spectator 
of  a scene  of  that  sort  was  new  to  me  and  I expected  to 
enjoy  it.  It  was  great — until  dad  got  through  with  Bill. 
Then  the  fun  ran  right  out  of  it,  for  dad  saw  me  gloating 
and  he  took  me  in.  I received  what  was  left  over  from 
Bill.  It  was  quite  a lot,  too.  But  it  fitted  me  very 
well. 

When  Bill  was  five  I passed  sentence  of  death  upon 
him.  He  had  sent  me  a peculiarly  cutting  valentine, 
and  my  sensitive  nature  would  not  be  satisfied  with 
aught  but  blood.  I met  Bill  in  the  yard,  and  told  him 

that  I was  going  to 
make  match  safes  out 
of  his  pelt  in  less 
time  than  it  would 
take  a dog  to  choke 
on  a sandwich.  He 
said  he  was  glad  to 
hear  it,  as  he  had 
been  aching  to  hand 
me  a package  for  some 
time,  on  his  own  ac- 
count. We  mixed. 
When  we  separated, 
Bill  had  delivered  his 
package,  and  I real- 
ized that  I had  placed 
the  date  of  my  venge- 
ance too  late  in  the 
calendar. 

Perceiving  that  Bill 
intended  to  be  a per- 
manent fixture  in  the 
family,  I saw  that 
discretion  was  the  bet- 
ter part  of  safety,  and 
so  formed  a union 
with  him  in  the  dis- 
covery and  manufac- 
ture of  our  celebrated 
pain-proof  pads.  In 
our  household,  these 
articles  were  a 
daily  necessity,  and 
Bill  and  I would 
hook  on  our  pads  by 


WOULD  NEVER  DO. 

Mrs.  Binks — “Would  you  like  to  come  to  church  with  me  this 
morning?  You  may  sit  in  my  pew,  if  you  like.” 

Mrs.  Jinks — “ Sorry,  my  dear ; but  my  hat  isn’t  trimmed  for  that 
side  of  the  church.  ” 


step  sideways  like  a blind 
horse  smelling  an  automobile 
dead  ahead.  Ancient  history 
gave  him  the  nightmare  so  bad 
that  I refused  to  speak  to  him. 
When  Bill  peeked  into  an  al- 
gebra one  day  his  digestion 
gave  completely  out,  and  he 
accepted  a job  at  the  brick- 
yard, passing  hot  bricks  to  a 
wheelbarrow. 

Bill  stuck  to  the  brickyard 
until  he  had  a complexion  like 
an  orang-outang.  Then  he 
staked  himself  out  on  a farm. 
Here  he  did  fine — in  three 
years  cleaning  up  almost  twen- 
ty-seven dollars  in  negotiable 
cash  and  securities. 

He  then  resigned  from  the 


instinct  whenever  we  sighted  dad  coming  home  from 
work. 

As  Bill  grew  up  he  manifested  a strong  leaning  to- 
ward sport.  Elderly  ladies,  who  infested  our  vicinity, 
made  no  bones  of  predicting  violent  deaths  for  both  of 
us,  although  the  writer  was  one  of  the  best  boys  you 
ever  saw.  Couldn’t  think  of  anything  wicked  without 
getting  sick  at  the  stomach.  Bill,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  a hardened  wretch,  and  was  never  happier  than 
when  facing  death  in 
some  form  or  other. 


, farm  and  came  home — to  hunt. 
His  rural  existence  had  presented  him  with  large, 
jagged  features  and  fingers  like  bananas.  His  face  was 
tanned  the  color  of  an  Italian’s  work-shirt.  He  had  a 
voice  like  a bear  in  a churn.  When  he  laughed,  the 
lamps  flickered,  the  loose  change  in  dad’s  pocket  rattled, 
and  the  cows  came  home.  He  was  as  full  of  fun  as  a 
soda  fountain  is  of  fizz — and  at  the  same  pressure. 

I remember  distinctly  the  time  when  Bill  blew  me  for 
a dog.  I was  not  suffering  for  a dog  at  all,  but  when  Bill 


He  once  fell  off  a forty- 
foot  windmill  without 
sustaining  a bruise.  It 
is  only  fair  to  state 
that  he  fell  into  a tank- 
ful of  soft  water.  If 
it  had  been  hard  it 
would  have  killed  him. 

School  was  a grisly 
specter  that  darkened 
Bill’s  early  life.  He 
regarded  it  as  an  evil 
that  was  to  be  avoided 
whenever  possible,  and 
he  made  it  possible 
about  four  days  per 
week.  Bill  got  far 
enough  advanced  so  that 
he  knew  that  one  cat 
and  another  cat  made 
one  cat-fight.  Then  the 
school  board  got  their 
hooks  into  him,  and 
dragged  him  through 
two  or  three  rooms  by 
main  strength.  When 
he  tackled  mathematics 
Bill  got  thrown  hard. 
Physiology  made  him 


TOUCHED. 

Mrs.  Homespun — “The  comic  papers  say  you  fellows  never  work.” 

Weary  Waffles — “ Y-yes’m.  De  comic  papers  also  says  dat  mother-in-laws  is  a nuisance,  when 

everybody  knows  dat  dey  are  de  most  sweetest  an’  angelic  uv  mortals,  an’  ” 

Mrs.  Homespun — “You  poor,  dear  man  ! Come  right  in  this  minute  and  I will  broil  a chicken 
for  you.” 


A FAMILIAR  COMPLAINT. 


Mrs.  Henry  Peck — “ Henry,  you  must  get  a nurse  for  these  eggs.  I simply  cannot  neg- 
lect my  bridge  game  this  way.” 


had  gone  to  the  trouble  of  con- 
tracting for  the  animal,  I paid 
for  it  without  any  useless  mur- 
murs. I had  a reputation  then, 
and  I guarded  it  earnestly.  If  I 
had  owned  a prophetic  eye  I 
would  have  countermanded  that 
pup  at  the  start.  It  was  my 
first  great  error.  The  trouble 
that  brute  caused  in,  around, 
and  among  our  family  would 
have  made  a Mormon  mend  his 
ways. 

Bulger,  the  dog,  took  a par- 
ticular dislike  to  dad,  and  would 
make  a strenuous  attempt  to 
tree  him  on  his  return  from 
work.  This  was  hard  to  do,  as 
dad  was  built  like  a Saratoga 
trunk  and  hated  climbing,  and, 
in  addition  to  that,  he  was  re- 
markably hard  to  persuade.  By  the  time  dad  had 
kicked  Bulger  onto  the  roof  of  the  summer  kitchen  half 
a dozen  times,  the  animal  saw  a great  light  and  yielded 
to  superior  force. 

Bulger  led  a checkered  career.  He  ended  it  by  giving 
way  to  temptation.  Mother  had  set  out  a line  of  lemon 
pies  to  cool.  They  had  lather  on  them  two  and  a half 
inches  thick,  and  were  things  of  beauty  and  a joy  for- 
ever. I have  seen  dad  begin  at  one  edge  of  one  of 
mother’s  lemon  pies  and  never  draw  a breath  till  he 
emerged  smiling  and  triumphant  at  the  farther  edge. 


He  could  almost  inhale  one  of  those  pies.  A fellow  had 
to  open  his  jaws  till  his  back  hurt,  to  bite  one  of  those 
pies,  but  when  he  did,  it  was  worth  the  misery. 

The  pies  had  hardly  got  acclimated  on  the  back  porch 
when  our  canine  pet  sighted  them.  He  jammed  his  cold, 
clammy  muzzle  into  pie  number  one,  in  an  endeavor  to 
learn  more  of  its  character  and  habits.  As  he  drew  back 
to  think  it  over,  the  froth  stuck  to  his  nose,  and,  in  some 
surprise,  Bulger  ran  out  a foot  or  so  of  .tongue  to  remove 
it.  As  we  had  not  taught  him  to  spit  he  had  to  taste  it. 
Tears  of  joy  came  into  the  dog’s  deep  hazel  eyes  as  he 


DEAD,  ANYHOW. 

Rooney — “Yis,  Cassidy  met  wid  a violint  death.  He  took  a dose  av  morphane,  wint  to  shlape,  an 
niver  woke  up.’’ 

Riley — “ Do  ye  call  thot  violint  ?”  . , 

Rooney— “ Yis.  They  pounded  th’  loife  out  av  th’  poor  feller  thryin’  to  make  him  wake  \ 


THERE’S  A REASON. 


did  so.  He  yearned  for  more 
till  his  hind  legs  fairly 
trembled.  It  was  a terrible 
moment — and  Bulger  yielded. 

He  scalped  those  pies  with  the 
neatness  and  dispatch  of  a Si- 
oux Indian,  and  went  out  back 
of  the  barn  to  take  a siesta. 

After  a while  he  woke  up 
and  remembered  the  pies.  He 
started  back,  hoping  mother 
had  planted  a fresh  row  for 
his  benefit.  She  was  just 
coming  out  to  interview 
those  pies  as  he  came  up. 

She  saw  him  coming — with 
foam  on  his  chops,  and  as  far 
back  as  his  ears.  The  sight 
nearly  scared  mother  to  death, 
but  a hasty  glance  at  the  pies 
reassured  her.  She  picked 
up  a tomato  can  full  of  fish- 
worms  belonging  to  Bill,  and, 
with  cruel  aim,  heaved  it  at 
poor  Bulger.  It  missed  Bul- 
ger by  a narrow  margin  of  about  a rod,  and  broke  two 
dollars’  worth  of  glass  in  the  hothouse.  Bulger  shot 
under  the  back  porch  like  a shot  from  a thirteen-inch 
gun. 

When  dad  reached  home  he  viewed  the  pies,  and  forth- 


with sentenced  the  animal  to 
death  for  life.  As  Bill  re- 
fused to  curtail  the  dog’s 
happy  life,  and  as  dad  was  too 
tired  to  lead  the  brute  out- 
side of  the  corporate  limits, 
this  sad  duty  devolved  on  a 
neighbor’s  son.  ^ 

Sam  Berry  took  the  dog  in 
one  hand  N and  a big,  round 
dollar  in  the  other.  His  in- 
structions were  terse  and  sig- 
nificant. He  was  to  come 
back  with  no  dog.  Sam  was 
back  in  an  hour  with  a mar- 
row-freezing tale  of  slaugh- 
ter. He  went  into  details 
with  such  vividness  and  skill 
that  it  nearly  broke  our 
hearts.  Mother  wept,  dad 
sneezed,  and  Bill  wore  a face 
as  long  as  a horse.  Sam 
finally  left  us  alone  with  our 
grief — a mighty  fortunate 
thing  for  him.  He  had  hardly 
been  gone  a minute  when  the  rapid  patter  of  doggish 
feet  was  heard,  and  Bulger  came  up  the  front  walk  like 
a delayed  sky-rocket  and  jumped  through  the  open  door 
right  into  dad’s  lap.  The  shock  pushed  dad  over  and 
broke  the  back  off  the  chair  he  was  assuaging  his  grief 


PROVERB. 

“Conceited  people  are  like  eggs — too  full  of 
themselves  to  hold  anything  else'.” 


A VICTIM  TO  SYSTEM. 

Mrs.  Handout — “ How  did  you  become  a tramp  ?” 
Weary  Willie — “ It  wuz  de  ‘ health  magazines,  ’ lady.  I 
begun  takin’  long  walks  fer  me  appetite,  an’  pretty  soon  | 
wuz  good  fer  nuthin’  but  de  long  walks  an’  de  appetite.” 


“Ah,  my  dear  Mrs.  Flamingo,  you  are  so  fortunate !” 
“Why,  how’s  that,  Mrs.  Pelican  ?” 

“You  never  have  to  ask  Mr.  Flamingo  to  button  up 
your  dress  in  the  back.  ” 


IT  WAS  FATE. 

Mr.  Gaybuoy  (whose  racing  runabout  failed  to  negotiate  a sharp  tum)-“  Well,  well ! this  is  the  first  time  I’ve  been  in  church  in  ten  years. 


on.  Bulger  then  leaped  across 
the  table  and  gave  mother  a 
hasty  facial  massage,  yelped  a 
few  times  in  glee,  and  pounced 
upon  Bill.  He  was  the  happiest 
dog  I have  ever  seen — before  or 
since.  Even  dad  looked  pleased 
— though  he  gritted  his  teeth 
every  time  he  thought  of  those 
lemon  pies. 

In  those  early  days  Bill’s 
clothes  were  hereditary.  Mine 
were,  too,  but  I will  not  admit 
it.  When  dad  finally  made  up 
his  mind  that  he  had  actually 
worn  his  clothes  as  long  as  his 
contempt  for  them  would  per- 
mit, they  descended  by  easy 
stages  to  Bill  and  me.  The  proc- 
ess of  revision  was  a fearful 
and  wonderful  one.  The  clothes 
were  turned  inside  out,  and  as 
clothes  of  that  period  wore  a 
shaggy  inner  surface,  Bill  and  I 
used  to  be  garbed  like  mountain 
goats.  Some  of  the  pants  we 
inhabited  had  hair  on,  an  inch  in  length.  A fellow  once 
touched  a match  to  the  fuzz  on  Bill’s  breeches,  and  it  took 
ten  of  us  to  put  Bill  out.  After  the  affair  he  possessed 
a burnt-hair  odor  that  made  his  society  very  exclusive. 


These  trousers  were  always 
made  on  a large  scale.  Two 
could  get  into  them  with  ease 
and  comfort.  It  was  not  until 
Bill  began  bringing  home  con- 
traband pickerel  under  cover  of 
his  huge  pants  that  mother  saw 
the  error  of  her  way.  If  Bill 
had  lugged  in  a fish  across  his 
shoulder,  the  warden,  who  lived 
next  door  as  a precaution,  would 
have  nabbed  him.  But  by  slit- 
ting the  pickerel’s  tail  and  but- 
toning it  over  his  suspender  but- 
ton, he  could  tote  in  twenty 
pounds  of  fish,  provided  the 
pants  remained  on. 

Mother  changed  the  situation 
by  cutting  a big  V-shaped  gash 
in  the  upper  rim  of  Bill’s  trou- 
sers and  sewing  the  gash  togeth- 
er. This  puckered  Bill  up  so 
that  he  could  wear  his  pants 
without  using  suspenders,  and 
he  grew  quite  proud  over  it.  > 
Bill  had  a blood-curdling  ad- 
venture with  those  hirsute  pants  once.  He  had  a girl — 
also  an  ice-boat.  In  constructing  the  latter,  Bill  had 
stolen  the  sheets  from  the  spare  bed  to  use  as  a sail. 
This  crime  was  not  discovered  until  mother  accused  the 


, FISH  FIGURES. 

‘ How  many  fish  did  you  catch  yesterday  ?” 
: Forty-eight.” 

; Did  you  eat  all  three  of  them  ?” 


Sf'O  71//V(C- 


AS  GOOD  AS  THE  BEST  OF  THEM. 

“ Oh,  1 don’t  know.  She  ain’t  got  anything  on  me  !” 


presiding  elder  of  the  theft,  and  Bill  manfully  opened 
his  heart  and  confessed. 

Bill  invited  the  girl  to  go  ice-yotting — some  spell  it 
yacht,  but  I can’t.  She  was  tickled  to  death  to  go,  and 
Bill  tucked  her  in  snugly  and  then  wedged  himself  into 
what  space  she  didn’t  make  use  of.  He  was  wearing  his 
hairiest  pants  and  he  fitted  the  yacht  like  a new  boot  does 
a bunion. 

The  boat  behaved  well,  and  as  Bill  was  a natural-born 
sailor  he  fairly  dazzled  the  girl  by  the  style  in  which  he 
handled  it.  In  due  time,  however,  the  girl  hinted  that 
her  folks  usually  had  supper  about  six,  and  Bill  woke  up. 

He  commenced  to  crawl  out  of 
his  corner.  Then  he  hesitated 
and  looked  at  the  girl  in  an 
alarmed  manner.  He  started 
again,  and  again  glanced  idiot- 
ically at  the  girl.  He  then  felt 
around  critically  with  his  hand. 
The  chilly  truth  was  out — his 
shaggy  trousers  had  frozen  fast 
to  the  yacht.  In  the  words  of 
Old  Sleuth,  “He  was  a prisoner 
— facing  he  knew  not  what.” 
The  sad  intelligence  gradu- 
ally percolated  to  the  girl  and 
seemed  to  amuse  her  greatly. 
Bill  advised  her  to  run  on  home 
and  send  down  the  fire  com- 
pany or  the  police,  but  she 
flatly  refused.  She  said  he 
had  brought  her  there  and  he 
had  to  take  her  home. 

Bill  relapsed  into  painful  thought,  and  could  feel  him- 
self growing  closer  and  tighter  to  the  planks  every 
moment.  At  last,  with  a rosy  blush,  which  was  half- 
concealed  by  the  pale  light  of  the  setting  sun,  he  ex- 


TOO  DRASTIC. 

“ I see  by  the  paper,  ma,  that  a boy  assassin  has  been 
hanged.” 

“Wa-al,  a sassin’  boy  is  a great  trial,  but  I don’t  think 
thet  he  ought  ter  be  hanged  fer  it.” 

tracted  his  jackknife  and  set  to  work.  If  memory  serves 
me  right,  the  girl  responded  gamely  to  the  call  of  neces- 
sity, and  assisted  at  critical  stages  of  the  operation. 
At  length  Bill  stood — or,  rather,  sat — free.  From  then 
on  history  is  inaccurate  or  fragmentary,  and  the  present 
writer  reluctantly  chronicles  his  entire  ignorance  of  the 
facts.  Bill’s  wife — who  was  the  girl  in  the  case — has 
never  mentioned  it. 

WHEN  a woman  attends  a handkerchief  sale,  it  is 
probably  because  she  wants  to  blow  in  something. 


A GENIUS. 

De  Style — “Einstein  is 
a very  inventive  pro- 
moter. ” 

Gunbusta — “ What  has 
he  been  doing  now  ?” 

De  Style — “Says  there 
is  lots  of  money  in  it  for 
the  man  who  can  put  up 
the  bridge  jam  in  subway 
jars.” 


STUDIES  OF  A GENTLEMAN  GIVING  SOME  GOOD-NATURED  ADVICE  TO  HIS  NEIGHBOR. 


SUBURBAN  ADVANTAGES. 


First  suburbanite — “You  were  not  at  the  church 
sociable  last  night.  What  was  the  matter  ?”  ) 

Second  suburbanite — “ Got  carried  past  my  station, 
and  couldn’t  get  a train  back  till  it  was  too  late.” 

First  suburbanite — “ Ah  ! reading  again  ?” 

Second  suburbanite — “ Naw  ! Trying  to  explain 
the  benefits  of  living  in  the  suburbs  to  a city  man.” 

The  Amazon  Mountains. 

««  WHEN  I was  going  to  school,”  said  the  prominent 
™ " man,  willingly  contributing  his  share  to  the 
symposium  of  boyhood  recollections,  “ it  was  up  in  Can- 
ada, and  the  examinations  at  the  end  of  each  term  were 
oral  instead  of  written.  The  teacher  would  arrange  the 
class  on  benches  before  him,  ask  the  boys  questions  in 
turn,  and  when  a boy  couldn’t  answer  the  question  he 
had  to  get  up  from  his  bench  and  go  and  stand  against 
the  wall. 

“ During  one  examination  the  teacher  asked  us,  ‘ What 
great  range  of  mountains  is  in  South  America? 

' “ The  first  boy  shook  his  head  in  despair,  got  up  and 
stood  against  the  wall.  The  second  boy  stammered  for 
a moment,  then  he  too  got  up  and  went  to  the  wall. 
The  next  boy  did  the  same  thing.  By  that  time  confu- 
sion had  hold  of  the  class,  and  the  other  boys  arose  in 
one-two-three  order  and  marched  to  the  wall.  As  I saw 
my  turn  approaching — I was  about  the  last  boy  to  be 
expected  to  answer — I became  rattled.  For  my  life  I 
couldn’t  concentrate  my  thoughts  enough  to  recall  the 
name  of  that  mountain  range,  and,  finally,  completely 
demoralized,  I found  myself  unconsciously  rising  and 
going  to  the  wall.  Not  a boy  in  the  class  could  think  of 
the  name  of  that  mountain  range. 

“ Yet  I knew  perfectly  well  then,  as  anybody  knows, 
that  it  was  the  Amazon  Mountains.” 


HELP,  HELP  ! 


First  apple — “Say,  fellows  ! that]  girl  over  there  is  a 
core-us  girl.” 


Playing  Safe. 

/fc  MATEUR,  holding  five  aces,  leans  over  to  profes- 
* * sional  poker  player  and  whispers,  “ Billie,  how 
would  you  play  that  hand?” 

Professional  replies,  “ My  boy,  if  I were  you  I think 
I’d  play  under  an  assumed  name.” 


Jokes. 

THE  jokes  that  a fellow 
Remembers  are  yellow 
With  age — really  century  pets; 
But  the  true  bull’s-eye  hitters, 

The  dandy  side-splitters, 

Are  those  that  he  always  forgets 


Professor — “ And  then,  Mr.  Sharp,  what  happened 
after  Alexander  the  Great  died?” 

Student  (solemnly) — “ He  was  buried.” 


TURN  DOWN  THE  LIGHT. 

She — “ Yes,  dear  ; if  you  insist  you  may  catch  a few  oi 
those  fireflies.  I admit  the  light  is  a strain  to  my  eyes-  ” 


1 


Sir  Galahad  and  the  Balloon  lie  Had 

How  the  Great  Knight  Met  Wondrous  Adventure  at  the  Castle  of  Maidens 

By  M.  Worth  Colwell 


ANON,  saith  the  tale,  Sir  Galahad  did  make  amende 
upon  his  balloon  so  that  he  might  fly  again  and 
kill  the  sky  monster,  as  he  was  avowed,  and  make 
good.  For  sith  the  airship  had  been  rebuilden  and  fulled 
with  eighty-cent  gas,  it  was  marvel  for  to  see  and  of 
great  prowess. 

Then  came  much  good  knights  of  the  Table  Round 
unto  Sir  Galahad,  among  the  which  were  Sir  Bors  de 
Ganis,  Sir  Dodinas  le  Sauvage,  Sir  Palomides,  Sir  Teddy- 
bear,  and  many  others.  And  so  when  the  fellowship 
were  come  they  made  passing  good  cheer,  and  Sir  Teddy- 
bear  said  to  Sir  Galahad, 

“ What  adventure  seek  ye 
now,  fair  knight?  For  it 
would  to  look  goodily  to  us  were 
ye  to  make  a splendorous  as- 
cending.” 

“ Ye  speak  well,  forsooth, 
good  sirs,”  answered  Sir  Gal- 
ahad, as  he  did  lean  up  against 
a live  wire,  for  to  rest  and 
ease  him.  “ To-day  an  I do 
not  meet  with  a sky  dragon, 
who  perchance  may  send  my 
balloon  all-to-rive,  I shall  hie 
me  up  high  and  off  to  the 
Castle  of  Maidens,  which  the 
same  is  many  leagues  afar.” 

“ Dost  know  whence  lieth 
the  Castle  of  Maidens?”  asked 
Sir  Palomides,  whilst  he  fixt 
his  coat  of  Mail,  for  it  was 
Special  Delivery  Limited  Mail. 

“ Nay,  no  force  and  no  mat- 
ter, but  I will  away  and  dis- 
cover it,  wheresoever  it  be. 

Leave  it  to  muh !”  answered 
the  aero  errant  knight,  scratch- 
ing his  armor  for  to  take  the  itch 
from  out  of  it;  for  knights 
did  much  strange  adventures 
then  betimes,  for  those  were 
the  happy  days  and  happy 
knights. 

So  Sir  Galahad  did  start  up 
his  balloon,  and  it  did  rise, 
even  as  an  yeast  cake,  and  all 
the  knights  did  cheer  and  all 
the  noblesse  of  the  court  eke 
did  shout,  and  the  Common 
Peepul  did  peep.  So  the  brave 
knight  did  sail,  and  when  he 
had  ridden  much  he  saw  in  a 
valley  before  him  a castle  with 
deep  ditches  and  moats,  and 


there  ran  beside  a fair  river  which  height  Severn,  and 
the  warders  who,  perchance,  did  ofttimes  shoot  crap- 
pings,  would  call  out,  ‘‘Come  a Severn!”  Then  Sir 
Galahad  met  with  a man  of  great  ancientage,  and  he 
asked  him  what  was  the  castle’s  name. 

‘‘Fair  sir,”  said  the  old  man,  “it  is  the  Castle  of 
Maidens,  and  it  hath  an  huge  wall,  so  that  none  may 
escale  it.  Sir  Knight,  if  ye  do,  ye  will  ride  therein  to 
great  folly,  for  ye  have  this  ditch  water  to  pass  over.” 

“ What  care  I for  dish  water?”  asked  the  knight.  “ I 
will  abut  me  into  the  place.” 


THOSE  DEAR  GIhLS! 

“ I am  going  to  have  my  photos  taken.  I hopt  they  will  do  me  justic#.*1 
“I  hope  so,  too — justice  tempered  with  mercy. ” 


HARD  AND  FAST. 


Pat — “It  ain’t  twilve  yit,  Moike.  Thot,  clock’s  fast.  ” 
Mike — •“  Shure,  an’  Oi  know  thot.  Ef  it  worn’t  fast,  be- 
gorra  ! the  dommed  thing  wud  fall  down  on  yer  hid  !” 

Then  came  from  the  castle  seven  knights,  all  of  them 
brethren,  and  called  out,  “ Knight,  keep  thee,  for  we 
do  assure  thee  nothing  but  death!” 

“ Ha!”  laughed  Sir  Galahad.  “ Will  ye  all  have  to 


do  with  me  at  once?  Take  that  then,  and  that,  and  that, 
and  that;  and  when  ye  be  asked,  say  that  a good  knight 
gave  it  to  yuh!”  So  saying,  he  whizzed  his  airship  into 
their  middest,  laying  out  three  of  them.  Then  the 
brothers  did  assail  him  main  hard  with  spears  and  smote 
the  balloon  great  strokes,  so  that  their  spears  break. 
But  Sir  Galahad  hit  them  upon  the  heads  with  an  auxil- 
iary wind-jammer,  and  nigh  broke  their  necks,  so  that 
they  did  flee. 

Then  went  Sir  Galahad  into  the  castle,  and  there 
were  full  twoscore  damsels  standing. 

“Good-morrow,  fair  knight,”  said  they,  “for  thou 
hast  rescued  us  from  the  false  knights  who  shutted  us  in 
the  gaol.” 

“ How  came  ye  hither?”  asked  Sir  Galahad. 

Then  spake  a tall  one,  “ Know  ye  not  that  we  are  the 
‘ Moonlight  Maid  Burlesquers  ’ that  did  to  strand,  for  we 
are  chorus  gentlewomen  and  our  parents  were  all  rich 
but  honest.  And  ye  have  slain  all  our  low  comedians.” 
Then  they  did  all  knock  wood,  for  he  had  slain  all  the 
low  comedians. 

Whereupon,  after  bravely  rescuing  the  damsels,  Sir 
Galahad  flew  in  a jiffy  back  to  his  press  representative 
for  to  get  some  illustrated  specials  in  the  Sunday  Sup- 
plements. 


Binks — “ My  sister  is  coming  out  this  spring.” 
Winks — -“  How  long  was  she  sent  up  for?” 


THE  OBJECT. 

“I’ve  got  one  of  my  sons  learning  the  cornet  and  the  other  the  fiddle  ; one  daughter  studying  the  piano 
and  the  other  plays  the  flute  ; while  to  top  it  all  off,  my  wife  has  started  taking  singing  lessons. 

“ My  gracious  ! is  your  family  as  musical  as  all  that  ?”  ,, 

“ No  ; but  there’s  a vacant  lot  next  to  our  place,  and  we  don’t  want  anybody  to  build  on  it. 


A Few  Guesses  on  Women. 

/XNE  SHOULD  analyze  neither  the  looks  nor  the 
mind  of  a beauty. 

The  naked  truth  makes  every  one  who  sees  it  blush 
for  very  shame. 

Cynicism  is  merely  idealism  turned  sour. 

The  penalty  of  getting  the  woman  you  want  is  that 
you  must  keep  her. 

One  should  be  just  as  careful  about  lying  as  about 
telling  the  truth. 

When  a man  begins  to  write  for  money,  he  stops 
reading  for  pleasure. 

In  a high  wind  it  is  the  oldest,  ugliest,  and  leanest 
women  who  endeavor  hardest  to  hold  their  skirts  down. 

Celibacy  has  the  advantage  of  involving  submission 
to  the  wants  and  wishes  of  a single  tyrant. 

To  women  love  is  an  occupation ; to  men  a preoccupa- 
tion. 

Anxious  son — “ What  does  * chicanery  ’ mean,  fa- 
ther?” 

Fathei — ‘‘A  place  where  they  can  chickens,  of 
course.” 

Ready  for  Him. 

*1*HE  DIGNIFIED  president  of  a well-known  and 
* flourishing  New  England  college,  in  his  moments 
of  relaxation,  tells  the  following  story  at  his  own  ex- 
pense : 

One  summer,  some  years  ago,  he  spent  a vacation  of 
several  weeks  at  a farmhouse  in  a Maine  town.  The  next 
season  he  received  a letter  from  his  former  boarding 
mistress,  inquiring  if  he  would  like  to  return. 

In  reply  he  stated  that  he  would  be  very  glad  to  pass 
another  summer  vacation  with  her,  provided  some  needed 
changes  were  made  about  the  place. 

“First,”  wrote  the  college  president,  “your  maid 
Mary  is  persona  non  grata,  being  anything  but  neat  and 


APRIL  WEATHER. 

“Thu  shower  bath,  with  music,  is  certainly  a fine  institution.” 


^HIS  BEREAVED  MEMBER. 

“ Binks’s  best  girl  is  dead.” 

“ is  he  going  to  wear  mourning?” 

“ Just  on  his  arm.’’ 

orderly  in  her  ways,  and  if  she  is  still  with  you  I trust 
you  will  at  least  notallow  her  to  wait  on  the  table. 

“ Secondly,  I would  suggest  that  the  sanitary  condi- 
tions on  your  place  would  be  greatly  improved  if  the 
pigsty  were  moved  back  a few  rods  farther  from  the 
house  or  done  away  with  altogether. 

“ I will  wait  until  I hear  from  you  before  deciding 
about  coming.” 

The  somewhat  particular  college  president  was  reas- 
sured by  the  receipt  of  the  following  reply : 

“ Mary  has  went.  We  hain’t  had  no  hogs  on  the  place 
since  you  was  here  last  summer.  Be  sure  and  come.” 

A Mich.  Wish. 

A HOMESICK  young  angler  from  Mich. 
Sadly  said,  “ How  I wish  I could  fich. 

In  a Mich,  brook 

And  once  more  have  the  cook 

Serve  a Mich,  fich  in  a dich. 

% 

Well  Matched. 

<<  ^>HE  is  going  to  marry  a duke.  You  know  she  in- 
herited  fifty  millions.” 

“ It’s  tainted.” 

“ Well,  so  is  the  duke.” 


How  He  Squared  Himself. 

«<  1JOTTEN!”  involuntarily  exclaimed  Higgins  at  the 
play.  “I  beg  your  pardon,”  he  said  to  the 
startled  man  in  the  next  seat,  thinking  possibly  he  was 
a friend  of  the  actor.  “ I’m  always  saying  something 
to  hurt  some  one’s  feelings;  but  I assure  you  I was  not 
referring  to  the  star — merely  his  lines.” 

“ Oh,  don’t  worry  about  me,”  he  replied.  “ I’m  only 
the  man  who  wrote  the  play.” 

In  Her  Name. 

• « /"*AN  YOU  tell  me  who  lives  here?”  inquired  the 
postman  of  the  new  tenant. 

“Well,”  sighed  Mr.  Henry  Peck — for  it  was  none 
other — “ if  it  comes  to  that,  I guess  you  must  mean  my 
wife.” 


CAUTIOUS. 

“Are  ye  the  injineer  o’  this  train  ?” 

“Yes,  ma’am.” 

“Well,  I want  t’  introdoose  ye  t’  my  son,  Caleb,  who’s 
goin’  up  t’  Berkeley  with  ye ; he’s  goin’ t’  college  there,  an’  I 
want  ye  should  go  reel  slow  an’  careful  till  ye  get  there,  becuz 
he’s  goin’ t’  be  a missionary  t’  the  heathen.” 


TAKE  THE  NEXT  TRAIN. 


Irate  hostess — “ Do  you  suffer  from  cold  feet,  Mr.  Stand* 
around  ?’’ 

Mr.  Standaround — “I  do  not.” 

Irate  hostess — “ Then  unwrap  them,  please,  at  once.  ’’ 

Submarine  Finance. 

THERE  was  an  ancient  marinef. 

For  threescore  years  and  ten 
He’d  worked  upon  a submarine 
Until  the  proud  day  when 
He’d  viewed  his  warlike  craft  complete, 

The  happiest  of  men. 

The  government  inspectors  came 
And  marveled  greatly  o’er 
The  wonderful  invention  that  _ 

Was  moored  down  by  the  shore. 

The  old  inventor  glowed  with  pride 
And  dreamed  of  wealth  galore. 

They  sped  across  the  ocean’s  foam. 

The  men  began  to  think 
This  craft  the  great  problem  had  solved. 

Its  wonders  made  them  blink — 

In  fact,  it  would  do  anything 
Required  of  it  but — sink. 

The  old  man  was  no  financier; 

His  purse  was  not  rotund. 

He’d  just  enough  to  float  his  craft. 

But  not  a cent  beyond. 

You  see,  he’d  been  unable  to 
Provide  a sinking  fund. 

ROY  K.  MOULTON. 

Consolation. 

WANTED — -By  a young  man  recently  rejected,  apart- 
ments adjoining  those  of  a young  married  couple 
possessed  of  a baby  that  cries  all  night,  causing  the 
father  to  promenade  in  robe  de  nuit;  good,  loud  swearer 
preferred. 

It  Would  Crowd  Him. 

<<  OIMPKINS  refuses  to  have  his  flat  papered,”  re- 
ported  the  agent  of  the  building. 

“ What’s  the  matter  now?”  inquired  the  owner. 

“ He  claims  they  haven’t  room  enough  as  it  is.” 


The  Discontented  Lobster 

By  Ellis  Oliver  Jones 


ONCE  there  was  a lobster  who  sat  in  his  lobster  bed 
and  sighed.  His  limitations  chafed  him;  and 
especially  when  he  thought  of  the  bright-red 
coats  of  lobsters  he  had  heard  about  in  sharp  contrast  to 
his  own  somber-hued  garb,  his  contempt  for  the  local 
tailors  knfew  no  bounds. 

“ I’m  going  away  from  he-ah,”  he  announced  finally. 
He  had  acquired  the  accent  from  a lobster  who  had  lately 
come  among  them,  and  who  had  once  belonged  in  the 
preserves  of  an  English  lord. 

“ Going  away?”  questioned  his  mother  dramatically. 
“ Yes.  I am  tired  hanging  round  here.  I want  to 
get  into  the  swim.” 

“You’re  in  the  swim  now,”  observed  his  little 
brother,  who  was  also  the  village  joker. 

“ I am  speaking  figuratively,  gillie,”  retorted  the  dis- 
satisfied one.  “ I’m  going  to  New  York.” 

“ You’ll  be  in  the  soup  there,  and  that’s  no  figure  of 
speech,”  returned  his  brother.  , 

Ignoring  this  last  witticism,  the  dissatisfied  one  con- 


tinued, “ I’m  tired  of  these  old  clothes  and  the  rest  of 
the  has-beens  around  this  town.  New  York  is  the  place 
for  me.” 

“This  is  a pretty  kettle  of  fish,”  said  his  mother 
feebly. 

“ I want  to  hobnob  with  the  big  bugs  at  the  swell 
hotels,”  he  went  on. 

“ It’s  plain  to  be  seen  that  you  are  indeed  a lobster — 
a regular  chip  off  kthe  old  block,”  said  his  mother.  She 
tried  her  best  to  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose,  but  in 
vain.  The  next  time  the  lobster  fishermen  came  around 
the  young  man  departed. 

But  it  happened  that,  on  the  way  to  New  York,  he 
got  into  a fight  and  lost  one  of  his  claws.  Being  thus 
imperfect,  he  never  got  farther  north  than  Fourteenth 
Street,  and  ended  his'days  on  a Bowery  free-lunch  counter. 

Moral — New  York  is  a big  place. 


A MAN  in  Petuna  drank  gasoline  by  mistake.  Now, 
instead  of  coughing,  he  honks. 


“ YES,  SIR-REE,  HOOK  AND  ALL,  AND  HE  WAS  EVERY  INCH  OF  TWO  FEET!” 


SERVING  HIM  RIGHT. 

Clancy  (down  and  out) — “Thot  settles  it!  Me  cup  av  Lsorrow  is 


sap  runs  like  it  does  this  spring,  and,  I’ll  tell 
you,  I’ve  seen  thousands  of  ’em!” 

Austin  C.  Williams,  Westville,  Ind. 

THE  DOCTOR  KNEW. 

PATRICK  O’ROURKE,  an  Irishman,  had  the 
* misfortune  one  day  of  falling  from  the 
second  story  of  a house  just  being  completed. 
Mike  Flaherty,  the  foreman,  saw  him  fall  and 
immediately  called  an  ambulance,  which  in  due 
course  of  time  arrived.  The  surgeon  gave  one 
glance  toward  Pat’s  still  form  and  said,  “ He’s 
dead.” 

Pat,  who  was  just  coming  to,  heard  him, 
and,  rising  to  a sitting  posture,  replied, 
“ You’re  a liar ! I ain’t!”  Mike  was  standing 
close  by,  and  took  hold  of  Pat  gently,  saying, 
“ Lay  down,  Pat!  The  doctor  knows  better!” 
Charles  R.  Heyler,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


filled  t’  th’  brim  !” 

Mrs.  Clancy — “ Faith,  an’  it  isn’t ! Will  ye  hov  wan  or  two 
lumps  ?” 


NOT  FINISHED. 

/^NCE  on  a time  a lonely  little  boy  began  praying  to 
the  Lord  to  send  him  a baby  brother.  Regularly 
every  night,  before  retiring,  he  got  down  on  his  knees 
and  offered  up  his  petition.  Finally  he  suggested  that 
he  had  waited  a long  time,  and  hoped  the  Lord  would 
hurry  up  matters. 

In  a few  days  the  “ little  broth- 
er ” arrived.  Looking  at  the  baby 
a little  bit,  the  “ lonely  little  boy  ” 
said,  “Gee!  He’s  a great  looking 
thing!  Can’t  talk,  can’t  walk, 
ain’t  got  any  hair,  and  he  ain’t  got 
any  teeth — he  ain’t  finished  ! Wish 
I hadn’t  been  in  such  a darn 
hurry !” 

J.  C.  Eddingfield, 

New  Ross,  Ind. 


FLATTENED  HIM. 

First  chauffeur — “ Have  you  seen  anything 
of  old  Speeder  lately?” 

Second  ditto — “Yep;  ran  across  him  on  Broadway 
to-day.  ” 

PICKED  UP  IN  THE  STREET. 

Seaver — “ I see  the  market  is  pickin’  up.” 

Weaver — “ You  bet!  Picked  up  all  I had  last  week.” 


EXPERIENCE  ENOUGH. 

A FEW  days  ago,  while  visiting 
* a a near-by  maple  sugar  camp, 
I heard  the  following  conversation 
between  one  of  the  employes  and 
another  onlooker: 

“ How’s  the  sap  runnin’  this 
year,  Jim?” 

“ Oh,  fairly  well.” 

“ ’Bout  how  much  do  you  cal’ate 
you’ll  get?” 

“ Well,  I reckon,  from  the  way 
the  sap’s  runnin’  now,  we’d  ought 
to  get  three  hundred  and  fifty  gal- 
lon.” 

“ That’s  more’n  you  got  last 
year,  ain’t  it?  How  do  you  ’count 
for  that?” 


“ Well,  sir,  I’ll  tell  you,  I’vf 
never  seen  a spring  yet  where  the 


A RACING  TERM— “THE  FINAL  HEAT.” 


HARD  LINES. 

‘He  fondly  loved  a poetess, 

And  always  ran  to  greet  her. 

He  liked  to  scan  her  loveliness, 

And  often  tried  to  meter. 

Though  he,  too,  tried  to  poetize, 

She  did  not  care  to  win  him. 

His  shuffling  feet  did  she  despise, 

And  Hed  the  discord  in  him  ! n.  m.  l. 

Inherited. 

Weigle — “ Judging  from  the  vigorous  crowing  of  your 
young  rooster,  he  can  whip  everything  else  in  the  coop.” 
A.ikley — “He  can’t,  though;  he’s  too  much  like  his 
mother — full  of  hot  air.  You  know,  she’s  an  incubator.” 

Anxious  for  His  Health. 

Arctic  explorer’s  wife — “ Good-by,  John,  dear!” 
Arctic  explorer — “ Farewell,  my  love!” 

Arctic  explorer’s  wife — “ And,  John,  be  sure  that 
ice  is  perfectly  safe.” 


¥ TELL  you  I must  have  some  money!”  roared  the 
* King  of  Maritana,  who  was  in  sore  financial 
straits.  “ Somebody  will  have  to  cough  up.” 

“Alas!”  sighed  the  guardian  of  the  treasury,  who 
was  formerly  court  jester,  “ all  our  coffers  are  empty.” 


A iterary  hack  is  not  the  best  vehicle  of  expression. 


The  Keason. 

I’VE  run  a bit  with  Beatrice  and  chased  around  with 
Bess — 

I’ve  had  a case  on  both  of  them,  I may  as  well  confess  ; 
I’ve  whispered  airy  nothings  in  the  pearly  ear  of  Nell, 
And  told  a tale  of  eloquence  to  Betty  and  to  Belle; 

I’ve  hit  the  high  and  toppy  poir.tc  with  Sarah  and  with 
Sue, 

And  swung  to  subtle  symphonies  with  Prissy  and  with 
Prue ; 

I’ve  builded  castles  in  the  air,  assisted,  some,  by  Nan, 
And  trolled  my  moonlight  serenades  to  Dora  and  to  Fan; 
I’ve  sworn  eternal  constancy  to  Dolly,  Tess,  and  Fay, 
And  jollied  quite  a jolly  lot  with  Mabel  and  with  May; 
I’ve  turned  a double  trick  at  hearts  while  playing  whist 
with  Pearl, 

And  hypnotized  Miss  Cynthia  with,  “ Just  one  little 
girl !” 

I would  have  married  each  and  all — and  that’s  a-going 
some ! 

But — darn  their  unpoetic  souls— they  all  chewed  gum ! 

STACY  E.  BAKER. 


TOOK  HIM  TOO  LITERALLY. 


Who  Wouldn’t? 


AHMED  AL  MAHRAD,  ruler  of  Mezrah,  sat  in 
kingly  silence  on  his  jewel-incrusted  throne.  As 
was  the  custom  with  his  forefathers,  he  had  an- 
nounced two  days  before  that  a basin  of  silver  and  gold 
would  be  awarded  to  the  subject  who  bestowed  the  great- 
est boon  on  mankind;  and  the  hour  drew  nigh  for  the 
award.  A trumpet  sounded,  and  those  who  craved  the 
royal  favor  filed  in. 

“ Begin!”  thundered  the  king;  and  the  foremost  in 
the  line  stepped  forward. 

“ Oh,  Son  of  the  Stars,  I have  allowed  myself  to  pre- 
pare, after  much  labor,  a wine,  one  draught  of  which 
will  prevent  one  from  talking  in  his  sleep.  For  married 
men” 

“ Enough !”  interrupted  the  king.  “You  have  done 
well.  Thy  name  shall  be  handed  down  to  posterity,  and 
a graven  stone  shall  be  set  up  to  you  in  the  public  place.” 
“ Oh,  Son  of  the  Stars,”  the  second  aspirant  began, 
“ I am  one  skilled  in  medicine  and  surgery,  and  after 
years  of  experimenting  I have  found  that  a simple  opera- 
tion, when  performed  on  the  brain  of  a female  child, 
absolutely  prevents  all  desire  for  superfluous  frills  and 

fineries,  gossiping  and  ” 

“ Well  done,  my  son,”  broke  in  the  king.  “ You  are 
a worthy  son  of  a worthy  father,  and  your  name  shall  be 
borne  on  the  wings  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth, 
and  praises  will  be  on  men’s  lips  for  ages  to  come.” 


“ Oh,  Son  of  the  Stars,”  began  the  third  seeker  after 
fortune,  “ I am  a lover  of  mankind,  and  delight  in  bring- 
ing peace  and  happiness  to  all.  I have  here  a little  con- 
trivance so  small  as  would  lie  in  the  hollow  of  your 
hand,  but  which  will  absolutely  prevent  pajamas  from 
rolling  up  into  a thousand  and  one  knots  during  the 
night,  and  ” 

“ Enough!  enough!”  shouted  the  king,  forgetting  his 
kingly  dignity  for  the  moment.  “Enough!  The  prize 
is  his !” 

And  the  people  echoed  his  words,  “ The  prize  is  his!” 

As  Advertised 

4<  ^AfHAT’S  your  time?”  asked  the  old  farmer  of  the 
brisk  salesman. 

“ Twenty  minutes  after  five.  What  can  I do  for 
you?” 

“I  want  them  pants,”  said  the  old  farmer,  leading 
the  way  to  the  window  and  pointing  at  a ticket  marked 
“ Given  away  at  5.10.” 

While  He  Waits. 

FAREWELL  to  bird  and  bottle,  play  and  dance! 

Yon  holy  man-will  guide  her  thoughts  above. 
Yet,  see!  she  casts  one  long,  regretful  glance 
To  where  he  stands,  her  first  and  only  love. 

Lent  lilies  fade  and  spring  has  bloom,  and  then 
Monsieur  the  Devil  has  his  own  again. 


THE  LABOR  QUESTION— BOTH  SIDES  OF  IT. 


Giving  and  Forgiving'. 

HE  GAVE  her  a kiss  very  brave- 
ly, and  then, 

Because  she  seemed  shocked  at 
his  daring, 

He  took  it  all  back  like  the  meekest 
of  men — 

His  act  by  reaction  repairing. 
Such  sign  of  repentance  could  not 
be  ignored — - 

From  further  compunction  to 
save  him, 

His  kiss  of  contrition  she  fully  re- 
stored, 

And  for  giving  the  first  she 
forgave  him. 


My  New  Inventions. 

SINCE  I sold  my  last  invention  (at  a price  too  high  to  mention) 

I have  felt  ambition  stirring  in  the  region  of  my  soul, 

And  some  marvelous  creations,  fit  for  women  of  all  stations, 

I have  fashioned  without  erring  and  now  offer  sound  and  whole. 

I’ve  an  Introduction  Getter  which,  is  warranted  to  fetter 
Any  interesting  fellow  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye; 

And  a new  Magnetic  Thriller  with  a Hot-air  Gush  Instiller 

Which  will  make  the  heartstrings  mellow  and  ensnare  them 
by  and  by. 

I’ve  a Wordless  Wealth  Computer  and  a Lipless  Love  Transmuter 
And  a Male  Affection  Holder  that  is  warranted  0.  K. 

Then  my  Sympathy  Inciter  will  make  passion  flame  the  brighter, 

And  my  Pseudo  Form  Enfolder  start  caresses  on  their  way. 

I’ve  a delicate  gyrator  that  I call  a Love  Equator, 

Which  will  register  the  fever  when  it’s  at  its  highest  clip; 

And  a wonderful  Elixir  called  the  Fast  Delusion  Fixer, 

And  a Sign  and  Seal  Deceiver  which  will  circumvent  a slip. 

I’ve  a Confidence  Creator  and  a Dope  Investigator, 

Which  will  satisfy  each  question  that  a relative  might  ask, 

And  my  Wedding  Bell  Desirer  is  constructed  to  inspire  a 

Sudden  form  of  indigestion  which  takes  lovers  all  to  task. 

Then  my  Happy  Home  Retainer,  or  the  Mutual  Explainer, 

Will  be  counted  as  a treasure  in  the  family,  of  course; 

And  the  last  of  my  inventions  which  this  advertisement  mentions 
Is  my  Instantaneous  Measure  for  a Lawyer-less  Divorce. 

LAURNA  W.  SHELDON. 


Recipe. 

QICK  out  a small* 
* vacant  corner 
lot.  Scatter  around 
small  boys,  prefer- 
ably barefooted  and 
with  big  toes  tied 
up.  Add  a twine 
ball,  several  bat’s, 
one  broken  and 
wrapped  with  wire, 
three  or  four  yellow 
dogs  strolling  aloof, 
and  a brindle  cow 
grazing  with  indif- 
ferent attitude  in 
the  corner  of  the 
lot.  Stir  up  well. 
Fill  the  air  with 
cries  of  “ You’re 
out!”  “I  touched 
yer  !”  “ You’re 

another!  ” “I’m 
goin’  home !”  “Aw, 


“Hello,  Crowsfeet  ! Who*-  yer  got  all  yer  war  paint  on 
fer?  Goin’  ter  meet  yer  other  girl  ?” 

“ No;  I’m  goin  ’ ter  meet  her  other  man  !” 


whatchermatterwidyer?”  “Never  come  widin  a mile !”  “Butter-fingers!” 
“ Whatcherwantdothatfer?”  “ 01’ fraidy  cat!”  Have  the  yellow  dogs  en- 
gage in  a fight,  the  brindle  cow  break  her  tether  and  gallop  hurriedly  down 
the  street.  At  this  point  the  twine  ball  should  smash  old  man  Peters’s 
grocery-store  window.  The  appearance  of  old  man  Peters  will  serve  as  frost- 
ing. Place  in  the  hot  sun  on  a summer’s  afternoon  and  label  “ The  National 
Game.”  john  matter. 

The  Modern  Education. 

<<  ¥ SHOULD  never  have  thought  that  studying  would  have  cost  so  much 
* money.” 

“ Yes,  father;  and  if  you  only  knew  how  little  I have  studied.” 


F.  MOXON. 


HE  OUGHT  TO  KNOW. 

Mrs.  Hens — “Jest  look  here,  John  ! I’ve  found  a ten-cent  piece  in  this  chicken’s  craw.” 
Mr.  Hens — “ Wa-al,  thet  makes  one  authentic  case,  an’  the  fust  I ever  knowed,  whar  there 
wuz  money  in  chickens.” 


Everybody  Swears  by  Him. 

44  \AfHO’S  the  best-known  man  in  this  township?” 
* * queried  the  advance  agent  for  the  medicine 
show. 

“Well,  young  feller,”  answered  Uncle  Silas  Seaver 
slowly,  as  he  carefully  packed  the  tobacco  in  his  black 
pipe,  “Jake  Seymour  holds  that  record  about  now,  by 
eatin’  the  fust  new  potatoes  from  his  own  garden,  tho’ 
Hank  Calkins  is  a close  second  with  his  new  peas.  Aunt 
Sarah  Stanton  is  attractin’  considerable  attention  with 
her  flock  of  eighteen  light  brahmas,  with  an  egg  record 
of  twelve  dozen  in  eight  days,  the  same  bein’  writ  up  in 
the  Smithville  Banner.  An’  Wallis  Weaver’s  buildin’  a 
new  hip-roof  barn.  But  I guess,  everything  considerin’, 
Squire  Hamilton’s  about  the  most  popular  man  about 
these  parts  now.  Everybody  seems  to  swear  by  the 
squire,  seein’s  he’s  jest  been  elected  assessor.” 

Great  Need. 

OH,  THAT  some  Burbank  of  the  West 
Would  patent,  mal<e,  and  sell 
An  onion  with  an  onion  taste — 

But  with  a violet  smell. 

The  Race  Is  to  the  Fleet  * 

44  npHIS  is  what  you  call  welcoming  the  fleet,”  mur- 
* mured  the  hundred-yard  sprinter,  as  he  breasted 
the  tape  in  eight  and  four-fifths  seconds,  amid  the  ap- 
plause of  the  multitude. 


The  end  of  failures  is  ofttimes  the  end  of  success. 


Doctor  (to  attempted  suicide) — “You  may  sit  up  now.”. 
Suicide — “I  know,  doctor;  but  I don’t  want  to  do  anything 
to  endanger  mv  health.’’ 


HeNCLEPt 

GOOD  IDEA. 


Hairless  Henery — “Can  you  suggest  anything  to  nourish 
my  hair?” 

Uncle — “Develop  your  brains  a bit  and  the  roots  will  have 
something  to  feed  on.” 

The  Occupant  in  the  Rear. 

<<  ¥S  THERE  a young  lady  by  the  name  of  Evans  liv- 
* ing  in  this  house?”  inquired  the  strange  woman 
of  the  timid-appearing  man  at  the  front  door. 

“Yes,”  returned  he,  with  a suddenly  respectful  and 
serious  demeanor.  “ She  occupies  the  rear  of  this  house, 
so  you’d  best  step  round  to  the  rear  door  and  knock 
gently,  ma’am.” 

“ I did;  but  no  one  answered.” 

“ Ah,  then,  didn’t  you  notice  a sign  on  the  door  in  the 
shape  of  a neat  placard?”  asked  the  man,  in  tones  of 
awe  and  admiration. 

“Yes.  The  placard  said,  ‘ Out.’ ” 

“Then  she’vs  out.  That’s  her  sign,  ma’am.” 

“ Do  you  know  when  she  will  return?” 

“No;  we  never  know  that,  ma’am.  In  fact,  she 
comes  and  goes  whenever  she  takes  the  notion,  and 
wants  none  to  interfere  with  her  doings  or  habits  in  any 
way,  shape,  or  manner,  ma’am.” 

“ She’s  rather  a mysterious  and  independent  sort  of 
person,  I take  it.” 

“ Well,  rather.  You  see,  ma’am,  she’s  our  cook!” 

A Problem  in  Division. 

Foreman — “ How  many  av  yez  are  down  thot  hole?” 
Laborers — “ Three.” 

Foreman — “ The  half  av  yez  come  up.” 


THE  LION  AND  THE  LAMB  SHALL  LIE  DOWN 
TOGETHER! 


Rondeau. 

THE  RUMOR  ran,  not  long  ago, 

That  he  had  come  to  be  my  beau. 

The  gossips  shook  their  heads  and  talked 

If  on  a Sabbath  out  we  walked 

And  through  the  parkways  ambled  slow. 

“Propinquity,”  they  said,  you  know. 

I knew  that  if  he  heard  he’d  go. 

And  though  I at  the  gossips  mocked, 

The  rumor  ran. 

So  now  I sit  alone,  for  no 
Tobacco  smoke  I smell  below; 

No  creak  of  chair  when  forth  he  rocked. 

The  room  is  bare,  the  door  is  locked; 

I’ve  lost  my  rent,  my  money’s  low. 

The  roomer  ran ! 

AURELIA  D.  HOWELLS. 

These  Realistic  Babes. 

¥AfILLIE  was  decidedly  realistic  and  so  very  fond  of 
” * hearing  Bible  stories  read  aloud  that,  as  soon  as 
he  could  read,  his  aunty  gave  him  a copy  of  the  Bible 
written  especially  for  children. 

Not  long  afterward  he  was  heard  howling  in  despair. 
Every  one  ran  to  see  what  had  happened.  They  found 
him  with  his  new  Bible  open. 

“ Willie,  Willie,  tell  us  what  is  the  matter!” 

“ M-M-Moses  is  dead!  And  God  buried  him!  A-and 
n-no  man  knows  w-where  h-his  b-bones  are  t-to  th-this 
day !” 


THOSE  CLEVER  STOREKEEPERS. 


The  child — “Say,  maw,  how  did  that  storekeeper  know 
you  was  from  the  country  ?” 

Manu — “ Heaven  only  knows ! It  must  have  been  my 
accent” 


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PUZZLE  PICTURE  ENTITLED,  “WE’RE  GLAD  TO  SEE  THEY’RE  BACK. 


More  Intelligent  Than  He  Looked 


By  J.  Bradley  Vandaworker 


THE  GUIDE  connected  with  the  hotel  came  round 
the  corner,  mounted'  the  steps  of  the  veranda 
with  awkward  strides,  and  lounged  against  a 
post.  He  was  a lean,  lank  Greene  County 
youth  from  Big  Hollow,  with  a hatchet  face  and  a lantern 
jaw.  Blinking  his  sleepy  eyes,  he  addressed  us, 

“ I don’t  reckon  you  want  to  climb  no  mountains  to- 
day?” 

“Not  unless  there’s  a clear  sky,”  said  I.  “ What  are 
the  prospects?” 

“ Well,  I guess  ther’  ain’t  none, ” he  said,  shifting 
his  weight  to  the  other  foot.  “ I’ve  most  always  no- 
ticed,” he  drawled,  “ that  when  it  starts  in  with  such  a 
measly  drizzle  so  early  on  an  April  mornin’,  ther’  ain’t 
no  lettin’  up  till  the  moon  comes  out.” 

Charley  Moore,  with  a wink  at  the  others,  dryly  re- 
marked, 

“Yes,  that’s  so.  I’ve  noticed  the  moon  never  shines 
when  it  rains.” 

Apparently  it  was  lost  on 
the  guide. 

“ Do  you  ever  see  any 
bear  in  the  mountains?”  I 
asked,  handing  him  a cigar. 

‘‘Thank  yo’,  sir.  Yes, 
ther’  be  some  bear.  1 most 
always  smoke  a pipe,  ’cept- 
in’  on  Sundays.”  Throw- 
ing one  leg  over  the  back 
of  a chair,  he  slouched  back 
against  the  post  in  drowsy 
contentment. 

Ben  Teal,  looking  for 
amusement,  finally  ap- 
proached him.  “Any  snakes 
in  these  parts?” 

“ None  to  mention,  now. 

Used  to  be,”  he  answered, 
evidently  not  to  be  drawn 
into  conversation. 

Then  one  snake  story  fol- 
lowed another,  each  member 
of  the  party  trying  to  outdo 
the  other.  Occasionally  the 
guide  partly  opened  his 
eyes  and  ejaculated,  “Land 
sakes !” 

When  Charley  Moore  told 
a tale  that  put  us  all  to 
shame,  the  Big  Hollow  youth 
showed  deeper  interest  and 
exclaimed,  “Well,  I never! 

Looked  like  a grapevine 
hangin’ in  a tree?” 


“ Yes,  sir,”  replied  Charley. 

“ How  long  did  you  say  it  was?” 

“Twenty  feet  and  three  inches,”  boldly  answered 
Charley.  “ And  six  inches  thick,”  he  added,  seeing  the 
astonishment  of  the  youth. 

“ I never  see  grapevines  that  big  around  here,  but  I 
suppose  they  do  grow  that  size  down  your  way.” 

“ Any  spakes  like  that  here?”  asked  Ben. 

“ Not  now.  A long  time  ago  I hired  out  to  chop 
wood,  over  Elm  Ridge  way,  t’other  side  Black  Head 
range.  Ed  Slater,  the  man  that  hired  me,  lived  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountains.  It  was  quite  a tramp  to  where  I 
had  to  chop,  so  I took  my  dinner.  Well,  the  first  morn- 
ing, when  I climbed  the  mountain  an’  come  to  the  place, 
I begun  to  look  for  a good  spot  to  hide  my  dinner  bucket, 
’cause  I didn’t  want  no  bear  eatin’  my  grub.  I seen 
somethin’  that  looked  to  me  like  a log— dead  log,  you 
know.  So  I put  my  bucket  behind  it — an’  I still  thought 

it  was  a log.  Then  I went 
to  choppin’.  Pretty  soon  I 
got  warm  enough  to  take  off 
my  coat.  Yes,  sir;  I went 
back  an’  actually  put  my 
coat  on  what  I thought  was 
a log.  Then  I chopped  on, 
once  or  twice  lookin’  back 
to  see  if  my  grub  was  safe. 
At  noon  I went  to  eat.  Yes, 
sir.  I give  my  axe  a swing 
inter  what  I supposed  was  a 
log,  then  I spread  my  coat 
on  the  thing,  for  it  hadn’t 
moved,  an’  sat  there  eatin’ 
my  dinner  just  as  comfort- 
able, an’  feelin’  as  safe  as  a 
little  girl  in  Sunday  school. 
All  the  while,  mind  you,  I 
thought  it  was  a log.  Yes, 
sir,  I did,  by  jingo!” 

Then  he  slowly  closed  his 
sleepy  eyes  in  silence. 

Charley  Moore,  his  curi- 
osity getting  the  better  of 
him,  asked,  “ What  was 
it?” 

Slowly  opening  one  eye, 
he  replied,  “ It  was  a log.” 


BRIDAL  PROBLEMS. 

“ I want  a man’s  shirt-waist — some  fashionable  shade — 
and  I don’t  know  the  exact  size;  but  he’s  an  inch  taller  than 
I am,  with  shoulders  something  like  yours,  only  handsomer, 
of  course.  ” 


His  Dilemma. 

Knicker — “ How  do  you 
suppose  Taft  feels?” 

Bocker — “ Like  a girl  who 
is  chaperoned  by  a widow.” 


The  Nervy  Young  Man. 

«<  OIR.”  said  the  nervy  young  man,  coming  into  the 
rich  merchant’s  office  and  taking  a seat  near 
the  head  of  the  firm,  “ I would  like  to  ask  you  for  your 
daughter’s  hand!” 

“ Why,  I don’t  even  know  you,  sir!” 

“Oh,  don’t  let  that  bother  at  all,  sir.  We’ll  soon 
get  acquainted.” 

“So  you,  a perfect  stranger,  ask  for  my  daughter’s 
hand,  eh?”  said  the  rich  merchant,  gazing  in  amazement 
at  his  caller.  “ Which  daughter  do  you  mean?  I have 
three.” 

“ I mean  the  one  with  the  golden  hair,”  imparted  the 
young  man,  unabashed. 

“ I am  still  in  doubt,  young  man.  Two  of  my  daugh- 
ters have  golden  hair.  Do  you  mean  Ellen  or  Maria?” 

“ Can’t  say  which,  sir..  ' I had  only  a moment’s  view 
of  your  daughter,  and  have  never  met  her  to  know  her 
name.  But  the  moment’s  sight  of  her  was  enough  to 
tell  me  that  I love  her,  sir!” 

“ And  you  come  here  to  get  my  decision  without  con- 
sulting or  even  seeking  an  acquaintance  with  my  daugh- 
ter?” 

“Yes.  You  see,  sir,  the  time  is  short.  Yesterday 
I came  across  your  daughter  and  a young  man  in  the 
park.  Just  as  I had  made  up  my  mind  that  I loved  her, 
I heard  the  young  gentleman  tell  her  that  he  was  coming 


SEDUCTIVE. 

“Le’  me  take  yer  pie  fer  a minute,  sonny,  an’  I’ll  show 
yer  how  I kin  eat  it  an’  balance  a feather  on  me  nose  at  de 
same  time.'” 

here  to-day  to  ask  you  for  her  hand  in  marriage;  so  I 
hurried  right  along  to  get  in  my  bid  ahead  of  him.” 

“ Young  man,”  gasped  the  fond  parent,  “ it’s  a fore- 
gone conclusion  that  you  will  accomplish  what  you  start 
out  to  do.  And  you’ve  certainly  got  the  nerve!  So  go 
ahead  and  obtain  an  introduction  to  the  daughter  of  your 
choice  and  do  the  rest.  You’ve  got  my  consent!” 

CHARLES  C.  MULLIN. 


A DISCREET  POLICEMAN. 

Boy — “ Alderman  O’Rourke  and  old  man  Riley  are  having  th’  divil  av  a scrap  just  around  the  corner  Is 
Officer — “Which  is  on  top?” 

Poy — “Alderman  O’Rourke.” 

Officer — “Shure,  thin,  ut’s  as  much  as  me  job  is  worth  to  interfere!” 


“You  talk  about  your  shocks  of  hair,” 

Said  Uncle  Ezra  Fitch. 

“ I jest  received  a dreadful  scare 
A-pullin’  ’Mandy’s.  switch,” 

News. 

^pHE  ROAD  which  has  been  running  from  New  York 
* to  Boston  has  got  there. 

Mr.  Jones  recently  went  to  his  office,  leaving  the  lid 
off  the  family  jar.  An  explosion  resulted. 

Miss  Jenks,  who  was  seen  to  take  a street  car  at  the 
foot  of  Main  Street  last  night,  has  been  arrested. 

Miss  Mason  has  been  having  trouble  with  her  eyes. 
Yesterday  they  persisted  in  running  up  and  down  the 
columns  of  the  morning  paper.  Then  they  became  fas- 
tened on  the  picture  of  a departed  friend,  and  at  last  re- 
ports they  were  glued  to  the  opposite  wall. 

Professor  Seeley,  in  a moment  of  deep  thought  on 
Friday  afternoon,  threw  his  eyes  into  the  fire. 

When  Mr.  Morton  arrived  at  his  office  this  morning 
he  had  a young  lady  on  his  arm.  Dr.  Smith  is  the  at- 
tending physician. 

On  Tuesday  the  night  editor,  while 
following  a train  of  thought,  walked 
off  a high  trestle  and  fell  into  a rev- 
erie, but  his  injuries  were  slight  and 
he  is  now  able  to  be  at  his  desk  again. 

Everything  looks  very  bright  to-day. 

It  is  reported  that  one  of  our  early 
risers  swept  the  landscape  with  his  eye. 

ADA  T.  DRAKE. 


Sarcasm. 

ONE  day,  when  Eve,  in  joyful  mirth, 
Perambulated  on  this  earth. 

She  gazed  at  Adam’s  scant  array 
Of  fig-leaves — two  or  three,  they  say — 
And  said,  as  only  woman  can, 

**  It’s  a good  thing  clothes  don’t  make 
the  man.” 

Acts  Daytimes. 

Mrs.  Knox — “ Why  did  you  refer  to 
her  as  a great  actress?” 

Mrs.  Bangs — “ Why,  a good  many  of 
her  acquaintances  think  she  is  a per- 
fect lady.” 


A Natural  Churner. 

WILD-EYED  DISCOVERER  WOULD  UTILIZE  AN  AMAZON  TREE. 

AN  ANGULAR  man,  whose  chief  characteristics  were 
a wild  eye  and  a rusty  frock  coat,  entered  the  office 
of  a prominent  investment  concern.  Through  some  fluke 
on  the  part  of  the  office-boy,  he  gained  admittance  to 
the  private  office  of  the  president. 

“I  wish  to  present  anldea,  ” the  visitor  said,  without 
parley,  “ that  will  revolutionize  the  great  dairy  industry 
of  this  country.” 

“What  is  it?”  asked  the  financier;  but,  even  as  he 
spoke,  he  touched  the  little  push  button  on  his  desk 
marked  “ alarm.” 

“ You  are  doubtless  aware  that  down  on  the  Amazon 
there  is  a tree  whose  sap  consists  of  a fine  grade  of 
milk.” 

“ I have  heard  of  that  nature-faking  tree,”  said  the 
financier. 

“ Well,  my  idea  is  to  transplant  this  milk  tree  from 
the  peaceful  valley  of  the  Amazon  up  to  the  southern 
coast  of  America,  where  hurricanes  and  cyclones  would 
continually  shake  this  tree.” 

“What  then?” 

“ This,  churning  would  produce  a fine  grade  of  butter! 
Now  the  Natural  Churn  Company  (Inc.),  capitalized  at 
five  million  dollars  ” 

Just  then  the  clerks  rushed  in  and  led  the  discoverer 
away. 


PETER  PRY  SHEVLIN. 


Poet — “ Have  you  read  my  last  poem?” 
Friend — “ I trust  that  I have.” 


A PLEASANT  KIND  OF  COOLNESS. 

Although  there  was  a coolness  between  them,  her  face  wore  a beatific  expression. 


12 


A FAIR  DIVISION. 

Youngboy— “ Why,  Stoutleigh,  I thought  you  were  in  Paris  with  the  wife,  enjoying  yourself.” 

Stoutleigh — “ That’s  all  right — division  of  labor,  doncher  see  ? Wife’s  in  Paris  an  I m enjoying  myself. 


The  Philanthropist. 
'pHE  JUVENILE  grammar 
**  class  was  wrestling  with 
the  sentence,  “ A philanthro- 
pist gave  to  his  servant  a 
beautiful  cottage  in  the  sub- 
urbs.” 

“ Now,  then,”  continued  the 
teacher,  “ we  have  before  us  a 
positive  statement,  embracing 
a subject,  a predicate,  and  an 
object — do  you  understand?” 

“Yes-sum,”  chorused  the 
class. 

“ Very  well,  you  shall  have 
a test.  Come,  Thomas;  what 
is  the  subject?” 

“ Cottage  ” (doubtingly). 

“Why,  no,  child  I Philan- 
thropist. ’ ’ 

“ Oh!” 

“And  the  predicate,  Wil- 
liam?” 

“Servant”  (confidently). 

“Mercy,  no!  Gave  is  the 
predicate ; but  what  is  the  ob- 
ject, Casey?” 

Silence. 

“Come,  come!  It’s  quite 
apparent!” 

“ I guess  he  was  stuck  on 
her,”  ventured  the  lad. 


l^OT  ONLY  can  the  leopard 
not  change  his  spots,  but 
neither  can  anybody  his  kin — - 
worse  luck ! 


SOME  HARD-LUCK 
STORIES. 


SIMPLE. 


Passenger — “ How  do  you  feel,  my  good  man,  when  the  giant  waves  come  tumbling 
over  the  ship  ?” 

Old  salt — “ Wet,  ma’am — nuerry  wet!” 

Drawing*  a Line. 


TT  IS  an  East  Side  barber-shop.  An  Irishman  enters  to  be  shaved.  He 
* takes  a seat  and  barber  proceeds  to  lather  him. 

Barber  is  suddenly  called  into  an  adjoining  room,  where  he  is  detained 
some  time. 

During  his  absence  the  barber’s  pet  monkey  jumps  from  his  resting-place, 
seizes  the  brush,  and  proceeds  to  finish  lathering  the  Irishman’s  face.  Then  he 
takes  a razor  from  its  case,  strops  it,  and  turns  to  the  Irishman  to  shave  him. 

Irishman  sits  up  suddenly.  “ Shtop  that!”  he  exclaims.  “Ye  kin  tuck 
th’  towel  in  me  neck  an’  put  th’  soap  on  me  face,  but,  be  gorrah!  yer  father’s 
got  to  shave  me!” 

Noncents. 

WHOEVER  has  gazed  on  a bright  copper  cent 
Has  noticed,  unless  I’m  mistook, 

The  proud  aborigine’s  classical  face 
And  remarkably  in-a-cent  look. 

Generous  to  a Fault. 

Cohn — “ Einstein  settled  mit  his  creditors  for  fifty  cents  on  der  dollar.” 
Levy — “Mein  gracious!  his  liberality  vill  make  him  a pauper-” 


Murphy’s  Dilemma. 

URPHY,  evidently  un- 
der  the  weight  of  a 
hilarious  jag,  was  zigzag- 
ging his  way  along  the 
country  road.  Meeting  a 
minister  of  the  gospel,  he 
straightened  himself  up  and 
asked, 

“ Can  yez  tell  me  how 
fur  is’t  frum  here  to  White 
Plains?” 

“ About  four  miles,”  an- 
swered the  clergyman ; 
“ but,  my  good  man,  you 
have  a long  road  before 
you.” 


A Limited  Luxury. 

^f'WO  Irishmen  were  dis- 
* cussing  the  phenome- 
non  of  sleep.  Said  one,  “ Oi 
hear  as  wan  av  thim  poethry 
lads  calls  it  ‘ bald  nature’s 
hair-reshtoorer.  ’ ” 

“ Yis,  ” assented  the  oth- 
er; “ shlape’s  a grand  luxu- 
ry. It’s  a pity  a man  can’t 
kape  awake  long  enough  to 
inj’y  it.  Jist  whin  he’s 
thinkin’  phat  a foine  long 
shnooze  he’ll  be  hovin’,  be- 
gorra,  it’s  marnin’!” 

An  Explanation. 


“ It  ain’t  th’  lin’th  of 
th’  road  that’s  thrubblin’ 
me  at  all,  at  all,  y e r 
rivirence,”  hiccoughed  Murphy, 
it.” 

Continuous. 

THE  WEARY  model  gets  no  rest; 

Her  life  o’errun  with  woes  is. 
She  poses  all  the  day  with  zest, 

And  all  the  night  reposes. 


REAR  VIEW  OF  ANDREW  JACKSON  JOHNSON 
IN  HIS  PRISON  SUIT. 


It’s  th’  width  of 


Police  justice — “Jackson, 
this  atfair  looks  to  me  more 
like  a common  dog  fight  than 
a case  of  assault  and  battery.  You  claim  this  man 
assaulted  you,  and  that  you  did  not  even  try  to  defend 
yourself;  yet  he  bears  the  marks  of  your  teeth  in  sev- 
enteen places.  How  do  you  account  for  that?” 

Jackson — “ Well,  boss,  it  was  jest  like  dis.  He  hurt 
me  so  when  he  was  a-poundin’  of  me,  dat  I had  ter  have 
sumthin’  ter  bite  on,  or  I couldn’t  ’a’  stood  it.” 


Knew  His  Rights. 

Landlady — “ What’s  the  matter  with  that  pie?” 
Boarder — “ ’Tain’t  fit  for  a pig,  and  I ain’t  goin’  to 
eat  it.” 


Spiritual  Information. 

4 4 AHA!”  said  the  Pullman  porter,  as  he  drew  the 
**  flask  from  under  the  passenger’s  pillow,  “I 
have  learned  the  secret  of  his  berth.” 


THE  COMFORTS  OF  HOME. 

Old  bath — “James,  take  off  this  record  and  put  in  the  ‘Where  was  you  last  night;  it  was  one  o’clock  before  you  got  Home — one.” 


Comedian  Scored. 

VT  WAS  a wet  and 
* stormy  night.  The 
wind  howled  and  hissed 
round  the  rattling  win- 
dows. 

“ I guess  you’ve  heard 
a noise  like  that  before,” 
remarked  the  villain  in- 
sinuatingly. 

“ Sure,”  replied  the 
comedian  pleasantly;  “ but 
I guess  you  never  did.” 


Bad  Gin. 

Mrs.  Podunk — “ I dew 
think  it’s  outrageous  to 
send  our  fleets  over  to 
Japan. ” 

Mr.  Podunk  — “ Oh, 
’shaw,  ma!  it’s  jest  on  a 
friendly  visit.  Why  is  it 
outrageous?” 

Mrs.  Podunk — “ Why, 
them  sailors  will  be  full 
on  them  Japanese  jinrik- 
ishas  the  hull  time.” 


Advantage  of  Prov- 
ing Superiority. 

64  ||JA,”  boo-hooed  the 
* chastised  son,  “ if 
I had  let  Willie  Simmonds 
lick  me,  instead  of  me  licking  him,  would  you’ve  whipped 
me  just  the  same?” 

“ Yes;  but  remember  that  in  such  a case  you  would 
be  getting  two  lickings  in  place  of  one!” 


44  %JO,”  said  the  eminent  scientist,  “I  have  never 
seen  a Plymouth  Rock  hen  lay  a corner-stone, 
but  I have  frequently  seen  a pineapple  layer  cake.” 


In  Oklahoma. 

Keeper — “ I don’t  know 
what  I shall  do  with  No. 
1323.” 

Assistant — “ What’s  the  trouble?” 

Keeper — “ He’s  too  far  gone  to  run  around  here  at 
large  and  not  quite  crazy  enough  to  send  to  the  Legis- 
lature.” 

Retold. 

LITTLE  drops  of  water. 

Little  lack  of  sand, 

Make  the  frenzied  panic 
And  the  wiser  land. 


PRACTICE. 

New  clerk — “ I should  like  two  weeks’  vacation,  sir.” 

Boss — “What!  Why,  this  is  only  your  first  week  with 
us.  ” 

New  clerk — “Yes,  sir;  but  once  I get  accustomed  to  the 
position  I may  be  able  to  stand  it  longer.” 


FISHIN’  TIME. 

I. 

ISHIN’  time’s  a-comin’ ! 

I’ve  a kind  o’  feel 
Soon  we’ll  hear  the  hummin 
Of  the  nickel  reel; 

See  the  line  a-flyin’ 

Through  the  quiet  air, 

And  the  fly  a-!yin’ 

On  the  water  there. 

II. 

Sort  of  have  a feelin’ 

Trout  have  got  a hunch 
That  the  bell’s  a-pealin’. 

Callin’  ’em  to  lunch; 

Lurkin’  round  the  water, 

With  their  eyes  so  bright. 
Lookin’  for  a sorter 
Sop  for  appetite. 

III. 

When  the  grass  is  greenin’. 

And  the  trees  awake, 

And  the  birds  are  preenin’ 

Down  along  the  lake, 

Isn’t  any  doubtin’. 

To  my  knowin’  eye, 

That  the  time  for  troutin’ 

Is  a-drawin’  nigh. 


When  your  knees  is  shaky 
And  your  spine  is  limp. 
When  the  garter  snake  he 
Straightens  out  his  crimp, 
When  the  bees  is  buzzin’, 
When  you  hear  the  lark. 
And  the  piney  rozzin 
Oozes  from  the  bark,  - 


When  the  kids  is  stretchin’. 
Yawnin’  in  the  schools. 
Then’s  the  time  for  fetchin’ 

Out  your  fishin’  tools; 
Droppin’  all  your  duties. 

Family  forsook, 

For  the  speckled  beauties 
Waitin’  for  the  hook! 

JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 


DID  YOU  EVER! 

Did  you  ever  descend  in  the  night,  with  the  view 
Of  smashing  a burglar  chap  burly, 

To  find  it  was  only  “ the  girl  ” in  a stew 
To  tackle  her  wash  good  and  early  ? 


RUSHING  THINGS. 
Young  patriot — “ Golly  ! that 
beats  firecrackers  all  holler.  ” 


In  the  Padded  Cells. 

<i  ^AfHO  IS  that  young  man 
” ” there,  repeating  to 
himself,  ‘ Eighty-nine,  ninety, 
ninety-one,’  all  the  time?” 

“ He  was  saving  a thousand 
coupons  for  a meerschaum  pipe, 
and  the  company  went  bank- 
rupt on  his  nine  hundred  and 
ninety- first.  ” 

Together. 

THE  rich  man  and  the  poor 
man 

Are  together  raised  or 
crushed. 

The  freight  car  will  be  empty 
When  the  auto’s  toot  is  hus- 
hed. 

Careless. 

44  \^^HAT’S  the  matter  with 
* * the  candidate?” 

“ ’Sh!  He’s  very  ill.” 

“ Isn’t  it  rather  sudden?” 

“ Very.  He  smoked  a cigar 
from  the  wrong  pocket.” 


A Fable. 

/k  S THEY  came  out  of  church,  so  impressed 
was  Brown  with  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bishop’s  dis- 
course on  the  problems  of  life  in  this  sad  world 
that  he  could  not  forbear  exclaiming,  “ Beauti- 
ful, beautiful  1”  r 

Said  his  wife,  “ I think  you  are  a very  poor 
judge.  The  rim  is  entirely  too  large,  and  those 
flowers  are  very,  very  unbecoming!” 

Not  Such  a Good  Hand. 

Judge — “ What  have  you  to  say  as  to  the 
charge  that,  while  the  husband  of  one  woman, 
you  married  three  others?” 

Bigamist — “ Simply  this:  that  having  four  of 
a kind  isn’t  what  it  is  cracked  up  to  be.” 

Police. 

Jonesby — “ That  Chicago  man  who  slept  two 
weeks  was  arrested  yesterday.” 

Smithson  — “ What  was  the  charge  against 
him?” 

Jonesby — “ Impersonating  an  officer.” 

BY  SHOULDER  cold  and  marble  heart 
Full  oft  my  love  was  froze, 

But  the  greatest  chill  1 knew  not  till 
I got  the  tilted  nose. 


PAINTING  THE  LILY. 

Jealous  He — “What  makes  his  lips  sweeter 
than  mine  ?” 

She — “ Chocolate.” 

Jealous  He — “Huh!  He’s  mean — he  eats  it 
all  himself.  ” 

She — “ Possibly.  But  I get  the  flavor  wh*» 
he  kisses  me  !” 


Her  Testimonial 

By  Norman  H.  Crowell 


SHE  WAS  tall,  bony,  and  evidently  strong,  for  as 
the  pill  agent  came  up  to  the  door  she  was  in  the 
last  stages  of  heaving  a half-grown  Newfound- 
land dog  out  of  the  rear  window.  The  agent 
coughed  slightly  as  he  witnessed  this  feat  of  arms,  and 
passed  the  remark 
that  it  was  a fine 
day,  although  it 
looked  like  a frost 
was  due. 

“ Ye’re  right, 
stranger  — hain’t 
disputin’  you 
thar,  nohow,’’ 
said  the  woman,, 
as  she  wiped  the 
dog-hair  off  her 
hands  and  ap- 
proached the  door. 

The  agent  tilt- 
ed his  hat  back 
with  a profession- 
al gesture  and 
placed  his  elbow 
familiarly  against 
the  jamb  of  the 
doorway. 

“Madam,”  he 
said,  in  a far- 
away voice,  “ the 
last  time  I had  the 
pleasure  of  look- 
ing upon  your 
form,  now  glow- 
ing with  health 
and  the  strength 
of  man  — er  — of 
womanhood,  you 
were  a pitiable 
object.  Racked 
by  disease,  miser- 
able from  pain, 
and  helpless  from 
incurable  mala- 
dies, you  spent  a 
melancholy  existence.  You  were  gaunt,  hollow  ” — - — 

“ What’re  you  talkin’  about,  stranger?”  broke  in  the 
woman,  as  she  elevated  her  shoulders  slightly  and 
squinted  at  him  in  a dangerous  manner. 

“ This,  I believe,  is  Mrs.  Arabella  P.  Yocum?”  in- 
quired the  agent  easily. 

“ It  shore  is;  an’  what  of  it?” 

“ Am  I right  in  asserting  that  Bedloe’s  Little  Bilious 
Bullets  cured  you  of  weak  back,  nervous  prostration, 
insomnia,  and  night-sweats?  Your  picture  and  testi- 
monial are  familiar” 

' Hoi’  on,  young  man — jest  a second.  Be  you  the 


man  that  sold  me  them  Bedbug’s  Bilious  Bullets?  If  so, 
I want  words  with  you  consarnin’  them  pellets.” 

“ Yes,  madam;  that  was  my  pleasure,  I admit,”  re- 
sponded the  agent. 

“ An’  maybe  you  are  the  literary  light  what  edited  up 

them  thar  testi- 
monials what  has 
been  runnin’  in 
our  paper  every 
week  senct.  Be 
you?” 

► “Why,  I — that 

is,  perhaps” 

The  woman 
reached  forth  and 
seized  the  agent 
by  the  collar  and 
gave  a yank  that 
made  his  heels 
crack  together. 
Then  she  slammed 
him  down  on  to 
the  solid  end  of  a 
section  of  oak  log, 
and  pulled  out  a 
bunch  of  news- 
papers from  a 
pigeon-hole  near 
at  hand.  > 

“ I’ve  got  cake 
in  the  oven  an’ 
it’s  burnin’,  but 
I’ve  got  time 
enough  for  you  to 
read  that.  Read 
it  good  an’  loud, 
an’  don’t  miss 
any.” 

The  agent 
tremblingly  took 
the  paper  and  fo- 
cused the  spot  in- 
dicated by  her 
long,  red  forefin- 
ger. Then  he 
loosened  his  collar  and  began  weakly,  but  with  a gradual 
gain  in  power. 

“ ‘ Before  taking  Bedloe’s  Little  Bilious  Bullets  I was 
a physical  wreck.  My  liver  was  worn  to  shreds,  my 
kidneys  were  afloat,  and  my  groaning  drove  my  husband 
to  drink.  My  heart  was  so  weak  that  a fly  lighting  on 
me  sent  me  into  convulsions.  My  oldest  son  left  home 
and  was  jailed  for  horse-stealing  just  before  I began 

using  the  bullets.  At  this  period  I was  a living  skele- 

* 

ton,  and  the  doctor  said  there  was  no  hope  for  me.  My 
daughter  then  eloped  with  a negro  bartender.  But  Bed- 
loe’s Bullets  cleared  away  the  dark  clouds.  After  using 


INFERENTIAL. 

Lady  from  Boston — I’m  so  worried  about  my  daughter  ! Her  head  is  full  of 
anarchic  theories.’’  • 

Lady  from  Cheyenne — “Goodness  me!  Ain’t  there  nothing  you  can  put  on 
it  to  get  rid  of  ’em  ?” 


only  two  crates  of  them  my  daughter  got  a divorce,  ipy 
son  broke  jail,  my  husband  signed  the  pledge,  and  I was 
cured.  To-day  I can  run  faster,  jump  higher,  kick 
harder,  and  yell  louder  than  any  man  in  Pike  County. 
Arabella  P.  Yocum.’  ” 

The  agent  finished  reading  and  laid  down  the  paper. 

“ Well?”  snapped  the  woman  fiercely. 

“ Well,  this  is  the  strongest  testimonial  I ever  saw 
for  the  bullets.  It  is  delightful  to  read”— — 

“ Delightful?  Say,  Mister  Agent,  the  minute  I 
clapped  eye  on  that  testimonial,  I said  to  myself,  says  I, 
‘Arabella,  there’s  goin’  to  be  trouble  with  them  pill 
men,  shore  as  you’re  born  an’  breathin’.’  The  time.has 
come — it  is  here — an’  I reckon  maybe  Arabella  P.  Yocum 
is  goin’  to  know  if  this  Bedloe  man  is  financially  sound.” 
“ What  do  you  mean,  madam?”  said  the  agent 
weakly. 

The  woman  reached  in  behind  the  stove  and  withdrew 
a l-arge,  shiny  Winchester  and  began  slipping  big,  brass 
cartridges  into  its  insides.  Then  she  chucked  it  shut  a 
time  or  two  and  pushed  up  her  sleeves. 

“ Have  you  got  fifteen  dollars  in  money  on  you, 
agent?”  she  suddenly  inquired. 

‘‘Why — er — yes,  I have.” 

“ Lay  it  on  the  table !” 

The  agent  looked  sheepish  a moment,  then  slipped 
three  fives  to  the  position  mentioned. 

“ Good -day,  stranger!” 

“ Good -day,  madam — fine  weath  ” 

“ GIT!” 

He  did. 


A HARD  MILKER. 


The  boarder — “How  much  milk  does  that  cow  give?” 

The  milker — “She  don’t  give  none.  What  yer  git  yer  got 
ter  work  hard  fer.  ” 

Couldn’t  Afford  It. 

Congressman  Blank  (after  buying  voter  a drink)  — 
“ My  friend,  can  I rely  upon  you  to  support  me?” 

Crimson-nosed  friend — “Sorry,  gent;  but  my  wife’s 
kickin’  now  ’cause  I don’t  support  her.” 

So  Thoughtful. 

Mr.  Westend — “ You  seem  very  happy  to-night.” 
Mrs.  Westend — “ Yes,  indeed.  That  jewel  of  a maid 

is  not  going  to  leave  me 
after  all.” 

Mr.  Westend  — 
“ Why,  I thought  you 
told  me  only  the  other 
day  that  she  was  going 
to  Mrs.  Murrayhill’s?” 
Mrs.  Westend  — 
“Yes,  she  was;  but 
Mrs.  Murrayhill  died 
this  morning.  Was  it 
not  sweet. of  her?” 

A Cure-all. 

IJAVE  you  a wart? 
**  Have  you  a reced- 
ing chin?  Have  you  a 
bunion?  Have  you 
any  money?  Come  to 
us!  We  will  take  it 
away  from  you.  Dr. 
Onion,  adv. 

Enough  Left. 

Mrs.  Benliam — “You 
took  the  words  right  out 
of  my  mouth.” 

Benham — ‘‘I  don’t 
seem  to  have  done  a 
complete  job.” 


Of  all  our  human  aspects, 

There’s  nothing  half  so  queer, 
As  to  see  a fellow  telling 
A joke  you  cannot  hear. 


The  only  sight  that’s  queerer, 
It  really  seems  to  me, 

Is  to  see  some  fellows  getting 
A point  you  cannot  see. 


A Lesson  in  Horticulture 

By  E.  A.  Wader 


MY  NEIGHBOR  Brown  came  to  the  garden  fence 
and  said, 

“ How  do  you  do  your  grafting?” 

“ My  grafting?”  said  I. 

“ Yes — grafting  apple  trees.  I want  to  try  it  my- 
self.” 

“ Oh !”  I exclaimed.  ‘‘Yes,  yes!  Well,  in  the  first 
place,  I begin  by  lying;  that  is,  I lie  in  bed  and  think 
the  whole  thing  out  in  every  detail.  I watch  my  oppor- 
tunity, and  on  the  first  fine  day  I steal  a few  hours  from 


PUGNACIOUS. 

The  voluble  one — “I  can  always  remember  striking  faces.” 
Pat— “ Be gorra  ! ye’ll  niver  wake  to  recolliction  av  ye 
poke  moine.  ” 

my  business.  Then  I borrow  a saw — a steel  one — and 
with  it  I rob  the  tree,  upon  which  I wish  to  graft,  of 
some  of  its  larger  branches.  This  I try  to  do  in  such  a 
way  that  the  loss  of  the  branches  will  not  be  noticed. 
These  limbs  should  not  be  left  lying — that  is,  lying  on 
the  ground ; they  are  unsightly  and  may  attract  the  at- 
tention of  passers-by.  They  should  be  hustled  behind 
the  lattice-work  screen  at  once.  So  far,  so  good.  Now, 
let  me  see — oh,^yes!  I rob  another  tree  of  a few  twigs 
having  buds  on  them,  and  insert  them  in  the  ends  of  the 
sawed  branches  on  the  tree.  Then  I take  some  beeswax 
and  tallow  and  melt  it  together.  This  must  be  thor- 
oughly worked — -work  it  for  all  you’re  worth,  to  make  it 
pliable.  Finally,  with  this  I try  to  hide  all  appearance 
of  the  graft — from  sunlight  and  air;  and  there  you  are 
— the  job  is  done.” 

“ I see,”  said  Brown;  “ and  I think  I’m  foxy  enough 
to  do  the  trick  the  first  time  trying.  Many  thanks.” 
Shortly  after,  I heard  Brown  telling  his  wife  how  I 
explained  the  process.  This  is  the  way  he  had  it: 

“First,”  he  says,  “you  must  be  a good  liar;  then 
you  watch  your  chance  and  steal  a half  day  from  the 
company’s  time.  Then  you  steal  a saw;  then  you  de- 


fraud the  tree  of  some  branches,  which  you  must  hide, 
so  nobody  will  get  on.  Then  you  rob  somebody’s  tree  of 
twigs,  put  them  in  the  ends  of  the  branches,  and  cover 
your  tracks  with  beeswax  and  tallow.” 

Said  Brown’s  wife,  “ I don’t  think  that  man  can  be 
trusted;  he  has  two  kinds  of  grafting  mixed;  and,  be- 
sides, he  didn’t  tell  you  where  to  steal  the  apple  trees.” 

“ Over  the  Hill.” 

THERE  was  once  in  the  service  a gunner, 

At  hitting  the  target  a stunner; 

But  after  a lark 

Hit  a four-masted  bark, 

And  has  since  proved  a very  good  runner. 

Not  Well  Spent. 

OENATOR  BEVERIDGE  was  showing  a colored  con- 
^ stituent  about  Washington. 

“That  is  the  weather  bureau,”  said  the  Senator. 
“ The  government  spends  a lot  of  money  on  the  weather 
now.” 

Colored  constituent — “Ya-as,  sah;  an’  it’s  a heap 
wuss  now  dan  when  dey  didn’t.” 


ALL  ABOUT  HER. 


Winkle — “See  that  little  woman  in  black  over 
there?  I’ll  bet  there  are  more  men  crazy  about 
that  woman  than  any  woman  in  town.  ” 

Hinkle — “ What  makes  you  think  so  ?” 
Winkle — “Well,  she’s  the  matron  out  at  the 
insane  asylum.” 


The  Tri- weekly  Train. 

A NEW  ENGLANDER  was  traveling  in  Texas  on  a 
**  new  railroad. 

“ Hello,  neighbor!”  he  called  out  to  a fellow-traveler. 
“ How  about  the  south-bound  train?  How  often  does  it 
run?” 

“ She’s  a try-weekly,”  said  the  Texan.  “She  runs 
down  one  week  and  tries  mighty  hard  to  get  back  the 
next.” 

A Time-saving  Query. 

Stranger  (in  office  of  Courier-Journal) — 1 iVhat  are 
your  advertising  rates?” 

Proprietor  and  editor — “ How  do  you  want  ’em  quoted 
— in  eggs,  vegetables,  butter,  cordwood,  cider,  maple 
syrup,  or  dollars  and  cents?” 

A Little  Widow. 

A LITTLE  widow  now  and  then 

Plays  havoc  with  the  single  men. 

— Houston  Post. 

Because  a widow  loves  these  men 
Like  mother,  sweetheart — and  some  then. 

Or  a Swindler. 

Mrs.  Dewtell — “ I do  think  Mr.  Hankinson  is  the 
meanest  man  I ever  heard  of,  without  exception.” 

Mrs.  Jenkins — “ Why,  what’s  he  been  doing?” 

Mrs.  Dewtell — “ Sued  a man  for  alienation  of  his 
wife’s  affections  and  set  the  damages  at  only  ten  dollars.” 


MARRIED,  HIMSELF. 

Mrs.  Peck — “ Henry,  listen  to  those  wedding  bells  !” 

Henry  Peck — “ Wedding  bells  ! You  mean  lemon  peals.” 

Digs  Them  Out. 

Si  ¥\0  YOU  have  any  literary  people  in  your  town?” 
asked  a guest  of  Mr.  Booth  Tarkington  out  in 

Indiana. 

“ There  goes  Hiram  Spaydes — that  man  with  the  pick 
and  shovel  on  his  shoulder,”  replied  Mr.  Tarkington. 
“ He  has  produced  some  of  the  best  cellars  every  season.  ” 

A Withering  Glance. 

I ONCE  had  a doggie  named  Spark, 

Who  met  with  an  auto  at  dark. 

It  gave  him  a glance 
That  pressed  out  his  pants, 

And  tore  off  a part  of  his  bark. 

Ready  for  Them. 

Friend — “ Now,  if  I were  building  a house,  I’d  ” 

Owner — “ Step  around  the  corner,  please,  and  you’ll 
find  a house  I’m  putting  up  to  carry  out  the  ideas  of  my 
friends.  This  is  the  one  I’m  building  to  suit  myself.” 

Her  Proper  Sphere. 

Madge — “ Where  is  she  going  for  the  summer?” 

Dolly — “ To  one  of  the  seaside  resorts,  I should  say. 
I heard  her  tell  a friend  she  had  nothing  to  wear.” 


A FELLOW  from  Detroit  wants  to  know  the  scien- 
* * tific  name  for  snoring. 

“ Sheet  music,”  John. 


THE  BOY  FOR  THE  JOB. 

Employer — “Are  you  truthful?” 

Young  applicant — “Yep;  but  I ain’t  bo  darn  truthful  as  to 
#poil  your  business-  ” 


Everybody  Happy 

By  Ralph  Bergengren 


AN  INVETERATE  theater-goer  had  noticed,  in  a 
certain  New  York  theater  where  the  play  is 
changed  weekly,  another  patron  apparently  as 
inveterate  as  himself.  But  there  was  this  dif- 
ference between  them : One  came  for  the  play,  but  the 
other,  an  oldish  gentleman,  spent  the  whole  evening 
reading  his  newspaper,  or  sometimes  a rather  heavy- 
looking book,  in  the  smoking-room.  He  didn’t  smoke, 
but  he  just  sat  there  comfortably  and  read. 

He  was  there  the  same  evening  of  each  week,  and 
finally  the  observer’s  curiosity  got  the  better  of  -him. 


THE  BIG  STICK 
still  meets  with  approval  in  some  quarters. 

He  dropped  down  in  the  next  chair  and  started  a conver- 
sation. 

“It’s  a pietty  good  play,  don’t  you  think?’’  he  re- 
marked tentatively. 

The  other  looked  over  the  top  of  his  newspaper. 
“Haven’t  seen  it,’’ he  replied.  “Used  to  see  ’em 
when  I was  young.  Ali  very  much  the  same  thing.’’ 
“In  many  particulars,’’  agreed  the  play-goer. 
“ Still,  you  must  admit  that  there  are  differences. 
Every  generation  has  its  own  school  of  acting  and  play- 
writing. I see  you  here  frequently.” 

“Every  Saturday.” 

“Indeed!  Well,  that  beats  my  record.  You  evi- 
dently enjoy  acting  even  if  you  find  the  plays  somewhat 
monotonous.” 

“ Not  a bit.” 

“ And  yet  you  keep  coming?” 

“ Every  Saturday.” 

“ I’m  afraid  I may  seem  inquisitive — but  perhaps  you 
have  a relative  in  the  company.” 

The  oldish  man  looked  indignant. 

“I  should  hope  not,”  he  responded.  “I’ve  a wife 


and  three  daughters,  but,  thank  fortune!  they’re  not  on 
the  stage.” 

“ If  they’re  like  most  wives  and  daughters,”  hazarded 
the  other,  “ I should  think  they  would  want  to  be  here 
with  you.” 

“They  do.” 

“ And  you  never  bring  them?” 

The  older  man  laid  down  his  newspaper. 

“ This  is  a comfortable  sort  of  room,  isn’t  it?”  he 
queried. 

“Yes.” 

“ Comfortable  chairs,  good  light — all  that  sort  of 
thing?” 

“ Excellent.” 

“ Might  as  well  be  here  as  anywhere  else,  eh?” 

“ I suppose  so.” 

“ Wouldn’t  care  to  have  your  own  wife  and  daughters 
going  to  the  theater  alone,  would  .you?” 

“ Not  if  I had  any.” 

“ Don’t  have  to  see  the  show  if  I don’t  want  to?” 

“ Evidently  not.” 

The  older  man  picked  up  his  paper  again. 

“ Well,  that’s  the  way  of  it.  Wife  and  daughters 
down  there  in  the  audience.  Me  up  here  with  a good 
book  or  the  evening  paper.  Show  over — all  of  us  home 
together  and  everybody  happy.  Man’s  first  duty  to 
make  family  happy;  second  duty  to  be  happy  himself. 
And,  Lord  bless  you,  sir!  I don’t  have  to  see  the  show, 
even  if  I were  interested  in  it.  I hear  it  all  the  way 
home.” 

A SUMMER  resort — Borrowing  one’s  neighbor’s  lawn 
* * ower. 


OPPOSING  VIEW-POINTS. 


Boarder — “You  poor  old  mutt!  What  fun  do  you  get 
out  of  life?” 

Poor  old  mutt — “We  sees  you  things  hoppin’  ’round  at  this 
time  o’  year — that’s  fun.” 


A Transparent  Confession 

An  Original  Melodrama  in  One  Chapter 

By  Charles  H.  Fitch 


JOLLY  little  Mrs.  de  Verre  had  been  married  seven 
years  and  hadn’t  even  had  a quarrel.  But  that’s 
nothing  to  do  with  it. 

Her  cut-glass  was  disappearing!  Had  been 
disappearing  for  the  past  year,  several  pieces  every 
week ! 

This  morning  it  was  a beautiful  cut-glass  sugar  bowl. 
It  was  gone — absolute- 
ly gone ! And  she 
prided  herself  on  her 
large  collection.  It 
was  her  only  hobby 
and  mania. 

“ Henry  de  Verre,  ” 
she  began  at  the  break- 
fast table,  “ the  sugar 
bowl  has  ‘ went  ’ !” 

Henry  looked  up 
from  his  coffee  with 
a glassy  stare.  “ Sor- 
ry,” ,;he  muttered. 

Henry  had  a 
glass  eye  and 
was  a man  of 
few  words. 

“ You’re  the 
boss,  Henry.  I 
always  said 
that  you  wore 
the  pants  in 
this  family. 

And  I searched  those 
pants  last  night,  but  I 
didn’t  find  any.” 

“Any  what?” 
asked  Henry,  look- 
ing at  his  wife  furtively. 

“Pawn  tickets!” 

“ Theodosia  ” — Henry’s  voice  grew  deep  as  he  spoke 
his  wife’s  name — “I  did  not  pawn  your  cut-glass. 
Neither  was  it  stolen  by  burglars.  I ate  it!” 

“ What!”  screamed  Mrs.  de  Verre. 

“Before  I inherited  my  wealth,”  continued  Henry, 
rising  from  the  table  and  putting  his  hand  to  his  fore- 
head, while  the  hurdy-gurdy  below  played  jiggly  music, 
“ I was  a glas3-eater  in  a dime  museum.  Then  I re- 
formed. Later  I married  you.  But  you  tempted  me! 
Have  been  tempting  me  for  the  last  seven  years!” 

“ Good  heavens!  With  me  cut-glass?” 

“ Yes;  I was  always  used  to  the  choicest  of  cuts.” 

“ And  in  the  summer,  when  you  were  hot,  Henry, 

you  ate  the  frost  ” 

“ Yes,  the  frosted  glass,  Theodosia!” 

“ And  in  the  fall,  when  you  were  sick  and  the  doctor 
said  that  you  must  eat  pills,  and  Willie’s  mar  ” 


HELLO,  CENTRAL! 


“ Yes,  that’s  what  happened  to  Willie’s  marbles.” 

“ Oh,  that  I had  done  this  in  time !”  wailed  Theodosia. 
“ Why  didn’t  I send  for  it — ‘ Dr.  Cutting’s  Celebrated 
Cure  for  the  glass-eating  habit.  Put  it  in  hubby’s  coffee 
every  morning.’  But  I will  not  desert  you,  Henry. 
Hand  in  hand  we  will  fight  this  curse.  You  shall  not 
suffer  in  secret!  To-night  we  dine  on  isinglass — to- 
gether !” 

They  embrace. 
(Curtain.) 

A Long  Stay 
Expected. 

<<  ¥\AUGHTER,  I 
**  have  a request 
to  make.  ” 

“ All  right,  pa.” 

“ I have  just  wound 
that  eight-day  clock. 
Will  you  please  wind 
it  again  before  that 
young  man  goes?” 

They  Killed  Him. 

Smithson  — “ Poor 
chap!  I understand 
that  he  was  clubbed 
to  death.” 

J onesby — “ Yes. 
He  belonged  to  four,  I 
think.” 

His  Youthful 
Start. 

JIM  COOTES,  the 
old,  gray-headed 

good-for-nothing  and  village  failure,  led  the  boys  down 
to  the  red  bridge  and  pointed  up  the  stream  to  where 
a tumbledown  sawmill  had  half  fallen  in  the  dam. 

“ Thar !”  said  he  proudly ; “ up  thar,  et  thet  sawmill, 
’swhare  I got  my  start.” 


Dressed  Up. 

WHILE  mounted  on  top  of  a bbl., 

A stump  speech  was  made  by  O’Fbl. 
But  you  couldn’t,  they  say, 

Hear  him  ten  feet  away, 

So  loud  was  his  wearing  apbl. 


A Village  Hampden. 

Amro — “Abner  has  got  it  in  fer  the  Standard  Oil 
Company.” 

Ebenezei — “ I should  say  he  had!  He  lets  all  of  his 
lamps  burn  all  night — says  he’s  goin’  ter  do  all  he  kin 
ter  exhaust  the  resources  of  the  Standard,  b’gosh!” 


LITTLE  JOE’S  AUTOMOBILE. 


NOTHING  OF  IMPORTANCE  HAPPENED. 

/I  WEALTHY  New  York  gentleman,  on  account  of 
**  ill-health,  was  told  by  his  doctor  to  go  up  to  the 
mountains  for  about  two  months.  When  going  away  he 
gave  instructions  that  no  matter  what  happened  he 
should  not  be  advised. 

At  the  end  of  two  months  he  came  back,  and  on  meet- 
ing his  footman  at  the  station,  he  could  wait  no  longer  for 
some  news  and  he  said,  “ Henry,  has  anything  happened?” 
The  footman  replied,.  “ No,  sir.” 

The  man  kept  on  asking  the  footman  until  the  latter 
said,  “ Well,  sir,  only  this  happened — your  dog  died.” 

“ Is  that  so!”  said  the  man;  “ but  tell  me,  how  did  he 
die?” 

“ Oh,”  said  the  footman,  “ he  ate  some  burnt  horse- 
flesh.” 

“ Where  did  he  get  burnt  horseflesh  from?” 

“ You  see,  sir,  your  stable  burned  down  and  six  of 
your  horses  were  killed.” 

“ Then  how  did  the  stable  catch  fire?” 

“It  was  this  way,  sir,”  said  the  footman — “the 

flames  from  the  house  ” 

“ Why,  you  don’t  mean  to  say  that  my  house  is  de- 
stroyed!” said  the  man,  quite  nervous. 

“ Yes,  sir,”  replied  the  footman;  “ the  flames  of  the 
candles  were  blown  on  to  the  curtain  by  the  wind  and  the 
house  caught  fire.” 

“ Why,  I have  no  candles  in  my  house ! I use  nothing 
but  electricity.” 

“I  know,”  said  the  footman;  “but  your  mother-in- 
law  died  ” 

“ From  what?”  interrupted  the  man. 

“ Some  people  say  that  she  could  not  stand  the  shock.  ” 
“ What  shock?”  interrupted  the  man. 

“ Well,  you  see,  your  wife  ran  away  with  another 
man.”  Joseph  Pelezzari,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


THE  RIVAL  SALESMEN. 

A COUPLE  of  salesmen  for  two  rival  fireproof  safe 
* * manufacturers  chanced  to  meet  in  the  lobby  of  a 
hotel,  and  each  began  praising  the  particular  make  of 
safe  that  he  was  representing.  ' 

One  of  them  said,  “ Just  to  give  you  an  illustration 
of  the  superiority  of  our  safes,  I will  tell  you  of  a test 
we  made  recently.  We  put  a living  rooster  in  one  of 
our  safes,  built  a huge  fire  around  it,  and  left  it  in  this 
intense  heat  for  twenty-four  hours.  When  we  opened 
the  door  of  the  safe,  the  rooster  stepped  out,  flapped  his 
wings,  and  crowed,  as  lively  as  when  we  first  put  him 
in.” 

“That  is  nothing,”  remarked  the  other  salesman. 
“ Our  company  made  the  same  test,  putting  a living 
rooster  in  a safe  and  leaving  it  in  the  fire  for  twenty- 
four  hours.  But  when  we  opened  the  safe,  the  rooster 
was  dead.” 

“Ha,  ha!”  laughed  the  first  salesman;  “so  I. 
thought.” 

“Yes,”  returned  the  other;  “he  was  frozen  to 
death.” 

W.  B.  Otto,  Chattanooga,  Tenn. 

RECIPROCITY. 

“ Here  is  a little  flower  fer  yez,  Bridget,”  said  pa- 
trolman McFarrin,  gallantly  bowing  and  extending  a 
full-blown,  blushing  rose  through  the  open  kitchen  win- 
dow. 

“ An’  be  gorrah,  I’m  afther  a returnin’  of  the  com- 
plimint,”  quickly  replied  the  unapproachable  culinary 
queen,  as  she  heartlessly  dumped  a sifterful  of  the 
principal  ingredient  of  the  staff  of  life  down  upon  the 
hapless  head  of  the  guardian  of  the  law. 

Max  F.  Cunningham,  Flora,  111. 


Stretching  a Joke. 

ONCE  there  was  a country  boy  who  came  to  the  city 
to  forge  his  way  in  the  world. 

He  secured  a position  in  a wholesale  grocery, 
working  conscientiously  and  faithfully.  By  stint  and 
sacrifice  he  saved  a nice  portion  of  his  earnings,  until  at 
the  end  of  two  years  he  had  about  two  hundred  dollars 
in  the  bank  to  his  credit. 

Coincident  with  this  date  chronicled  above,  a well- 
dressed  and  smooth-talking  agent  of  a Nevada  gold-min- 
ing company  came  along  and  met  the  country  boy. 
After  some  clever  descriptions  regarding  the  marvels  of 
wealth  buried  in  the  shaft  of  a certain  mountain  and  the 
immense  quantities  of  glittering  treasures  dragged  from 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  the  two  hundred  dollars  were 
transferred  from  the  bank  to  the  agent,  and  a pretty  en- 
graved share  of  stock  with  the  name  of  the  country  boy 
upon  it  was  carefully  packed  away  in  the  tray  of  his 
trunk. 

A month  passed  and  then  a letter  came.  On  the  out- 
side of  the  envelope  was  the  name  of  the  Nevada  mining 
company.  On  the  inside  was  a check  for  one  thousand 
dollars,  the  first  monthly  payment  on  one  share  of  stock. 
Moral — Some  humorists  try  to  carry  a joke  too  far. 

JOHN  H.  MC  NEELY. 

The  Real  Test. 

«<  COME  people  believe  a man  cannot  smoke  and  be 
a Christian.  Do  you?” 

“ I’ve  never  tried  any  of  your  cigars.” 

Natural  Inference. 

Knickei — “Jones  is  wrapped  up  in  his  auto.” 

Bocker — “ When  did  the  accident  occur?” 


Simply  Great. 

*1\HE  train  dispatcher  opened  the  door  of  the  waiting- 
* room  and  let  loose. 

“ T’ain  f’r  Blubb’er,  Rummin’,  Blib-Blib,  Wh’  P’ains, 
Do’ces’  Ites,  Redin’,  an’  Kins’on!  Ga’  num’um!” 

“ Oh,  oh!”  exclaimed  the  college  freshman.  “ Isn’t 
that  a bully  yell?” 

Another  Stage  Victim. 

MARY  made  an  awfus  fuss 

Getting  hit  by  an  omnibus. 

Thinking  of  it  makes  her  wince. 

She’s  been  stage-struck  ever  since. 

Incumbered. 

Magistrate — “ You  are  willing  to  go  bail  for  John 
Preston  and  offer  your  farm  as  security?  Have  you  any 
incumbrance  on  the  farm?” 

Farmer — “Oh,  yes;  my  old  woman.” 


THE  SUICIDE  CLUB. 

President — “Brothers,  another  section  of  subway  has  been  opened,  and  the  new  reservoirs  will  soon  be  full.  On  to  glory  I” 


The  Summer  Boarder’s  Kick 

By  A.  B.  Lewis 


CALKINS,  the  city  chap,  who  had  spent  a few 
weeks  in  the  country  and  expected  spring  chicken, 
roast  beef,  and  ice-cream  three  times  a day,  was 
bidding  the  landlord,  an  aged  farmer,  good-by  at  the  de- 
pot, and  he  thought  it  would  be  a good  time  to  relieve 
his  mind. 


HARD  TO  GET  OUT. 

Finnigan — “ An’  is  there  anny  money  in  goats  ?” 

Hennigan — “There  is  in  thot  wan.” 

Finnigan — “ So  ?” 

Hennigan — “ Yis.  He  ate  me  pocketbook  this  marnin’. ” 

“ Your  so-called  hotel,”  he  said,  “ would  be  a para- 
dise for  people  wTho  had  been  wrecked  on  a desert  island 
six  or  seven  years,  but  ” 

“ Wa-al,  that’s  real  good  of  ye  to  say  so,”  broke  in 
the  farmer,  who  thought  a compliment  was  intended. 

“ Oh,  you  can  keep  the 
change,  ” continued  the  man  from 
the  city,  sarcastically.  “The 
meals  you  serve  would  probably 
tickle  a longshoreman  to  death, 
but”— 

“ By  gum ! but  it’s  kind  of  ye 
to  praise  Sary’s  cookin’  so!”  en- 
thusiastically interrupted  the 
landlord  again.  “ She’ll  be  as 
proud  as  a settin’  hen  when  I 
tell  her.” 

“ Yes;  she  ought  to  be  proud 
of  her  work.  She’d  be  a gem  on 
a canal-boat,  but” 

“ She  would,  hey?  Wa-al, 

I’ve  alius  said  Sary  could  lay 
over  anythin’  in  the  county  on 
cookin’,  an’  now  you  come  along 
an’  back  me  up  in  it.  Why,  I 
hev  to  chase  the  hired  man  away 
from  the  table  with  a club,  or 
he’d  kill  hisself  eatin’.” 


“ Oh,  he’ll  kill  himself  if  he  lives  with  you  a little 
longer.  And  those  corn-husk  mattresses  your  guests 
have  to  sleep  on.  Say,  they’re  the  limit!” 

“ They  be,  hey?  Wa-al,  it’s  jest  fine  of  ye  to  say  so! 
By  gum ! but  Sary  kin  stir  up  a bed  ! Slept  ’iko  a baby, 
hey?” 

“Yes;  just  about  as  much  as  most  babie3  sleep 
at  night.  You  must  have  heard  me  moving  around 
at  all  hours,  but  thought  I was  anxious  for  breakfast, 
time  to  come  around,  so  that  I could  have  some  more 
of  that  hash  you  serve.” 

“Jest  what  I told  Sary — jest  what  I told  her! 
She  kinder  thought  you  was  tired  o’  hash,  an’  how 
tickled  she’ll  be  when  I tell  her  you  couldn’t  sleep 
fur  thinkin’  of  it!” 

The  man  from  the  city  was  wondering  how  he 
could  make  his  kick  better  understood,  but  when  he 
saw  tears  of  pride  and  gratitude  in  the  old  farmer’s 
eyes,  he  gave  it  up  as  a bad  job  and  boarded  his  train 
with  a sickly  smile  on  his  face. 

A Modest  Singer. 

IDO  not  care  who  makes  the  laws 
Of  this  great  land  of  mine, 

If  I can  only  sing  her  songs, 

And  get  one  bone  per  line. 

Misunderstood  Each  Other. 

<4/T'HE  second  girl  on  the  left  is  gorgeously 
* painted,”  whispered  the  gentleman  with 
chin  whiskers. 

“ Great  Scott!”  exclaimed  the  bald-headed  man.  “ I 
thought  they  were  tights.” 

Some  men  never  head  a procession  until  they’re  dead. 


NO  GROUNDS  FOR  LYING. 

Seawer  (in  railroad  eating-house) — “Waiter,  waiter!  this  coffee  tastes  like  lye. 
Why  in  thunder  do  you  serve  such  stuff?” 

Waiter — “Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  it  is  four  parts  lye.  We  serve  it  that  way  to 
dissolve  the  sandwich  so  it  can  be  digested.  ’’ 


A “ Stand-by  ” All  Right. 

Landlady’s  son  (addicted  to  nickel  lit- 
erature)— “ Say,  pardner,  what’s  meant 
by  ‘ stand  by  to  repel  boarders  ’?” 

Mr.  Newcome  (sadly  eying  his  des- 
sert)— “ Stewed  prunes!” 

Conclusive. 

First  doctor — “Do  you  consider  the 
operation  absolutely  necessary?” 

Second  doctor  — ‘‘Surely!  The  only 
way  we  can  possibly  find  out  what  ails 
him  is  to  have  a post-mortem.” 

A Contingency  Foreseen. 

<<  J UNDERSTAND,  ” observed  the  vis- 


itor, “ that  there  is  talk  of  investi- 
gating some  of  the  corporations  that  you 


3ia.a-^ 

INFORMATION  WANTED. 

Ticket  agent — “ Well,  what  is  it?  Don’t  keep  the  other  people  waiting.” 

Weary — “ I merely  wish  ter  know,  sir,  if  de  nort'-bound  t’ rough  freight  is  are  interested  in.  I hope  you  are  pre- 
on  time.”  pared  to  welcome  such  a move.” 

“ We  shall  be  prepared,”  replied  Sen- 

The  Retort  Courteous.  ator . “ In  fact,  I may  say  that  preparations  on 

Street  railway  superintendent — ‘‘I  don’t  think  we  the  part  of  the  company  have  been  in  progress  for  som$ 


HertdLFft 


can  use  you  any  longer.  Your  cash  register  doesn’t  ring 
often  enough.” 

Conductor — “ I have  got  rheumatism  and  can’t  reach 
up  to  the  register  cord.” 

Superintendent — “ All  right.  I think  you  need  a long 
vacation.” 

Conductor — ‘‘I  am  much  obliged  to  you 
for  allowing  me  to  run  the  car  as  long  as 
you  have.” 

i Superintendent — “ Don’t  mention  it.  I’m 
much  obliged  to  you  for  bringing  the  car 
back.” 

Johnny’s  Career  as  an  Office  Boy. 

Monday,  hired. 

Tuesday,  tired. 

Wednesday,  fired. 

Partly  Making  Good. 

Suburbanite  (Monday  morning) — “What 
do  you  think  of  that,  Mary? — a letter  from 
the  cook  I hired  Saturday,  canceling  her  en- 
gagement. ” 

His  wife  — “The  mean  thing!  What 
reason  does  she  give?” 

Suburbanite — “ She  3ays  she  has  decided 
to  cut  out  the  kerosene  circuit  for  the  pres- 
ent, but  if  we’ll  move  to  town  she’ll  give  us 
a trial.” 

Probably. 

first  skeptic — “ How  do  you  suppose 
Noah  could  see  during  all  that  flood  and 
darkness?” 

The  believer — “ He  probably  had  arc- 
lights  aboard.” 


time.’ 


Laying  On  of  Hands. 

Carsone — “ I believe  in  the  laying  on  of  hands.” 
Gebhart — “ You  do?” 

Carsone — “ Yes ; I cured  my  boy  of  swearing  with  it. 


WRONG  DIAGNOSIS. 

He — “ I feel  rotten.  I didn’t  sleep  all  last  night” 
She — * ‘ Dear  me  ! Insomnia  ?” 

He — “ No — er — poker.”  _ 




Ma,  Pa,  and  tbe  Baby 

By  LA  TOUCHE  HANCOCK 


• Scene. 

A parlor  in  a flat.  She  is  discovered,  rocking  the 
baby  in  a cradle. 

She — Late  again!  And  it’s  my  birthday!  I will 
stand  it  no  longer.  After  having  given  the  maid  an 
evening  out  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  and  cooking  the 
dinner  myself,  he  thinks  fit  to  be  an  hour  late.  Busi- 
ness, I suppose.  Bah ! I — oh,  here  he  comes  at  last ! 

He — (Enters  quickly  and  goes  toward  her,  making  as 
if  to  embrace  her.) 

She — How  dare  you?  You  can  spare  your  caresses! 

He — (Pauses,  looks  at  her  dubiously,  and  attempts  to 
take  her  hand.) 


She — Don’t  touch  me!  All  is  over  between  us.  I 
will  not — no,  I will  not  endure  this  treatment  any 
longer ! 

He — (Gives  a look  of  astonishment.) 

She — Oh,  you  needn’t  feign  surprise!  I’m  ashamed 
of  you ! 

He — (Sighs  and  sits  down.) 

She — Yes;  naturally,  after  having  been  out  amusing 
yourself,  you  need  a little  repose. 

He — (Rises  to  offer  her  his  seat.) 

She — Don’t  disturb  yourself.  I’m  sorry  I waited  for 
you.  It’s  now  nine  o’clock,  and 

He — (Points  to  clock.) 


MOTHS. 


He — (Assents.) 

She — Of  course.  I knew 


She — Pshaw ! That  clock 
is  slow,  and  you  are  per- 
fectly aware  of  it. 

He  — (Takes  out  watch 
and  looks  at  it.) 

She — Your  watch  is  no 
better.  I wonder  you  didn’t 
stay  out  all  night,  while 
you  were  about  it.  I sup- 
pose it  never  occurred  to 
you  that  it  was  my  birth- 
day? 

He — (Nods  affirmative- 
ly.) 

She  — Don’t  wag  your 
head  like  a mandarin! 

He — (Smiles  indulgent- 
ly.) 

She — You  look  as  if  you’d 
been  enjoying  yourself  huge- 
ly— in  low  company,  I’ll  be 
bound.  You’re  not  very  en- 
tertaining at  home.  I sup- 
pose you  only  put  on  your 
engaging  manners  like  you 
do  your  dress  clothes — when 
you  go  out ! 

He  — (Opens  his  mouth 
to  protest,  and  makes  mo- 
tion as  if  to  soothe  her.) 

She — Keep  your  blandishments  for  those  who  appre- 
ciate them.  You  can’t  deceive  me.  Who  was  it  this 
time? 

He — (Shrugs  his  shoulders  and  lights  a cigarette.) 

She — You  can’t  deny  you  went  somewhere  on  the 
way  home. 


No  chance  for  Snoozer  to  nap  during  fly-time 


He — (Lays  back  in  chair 
impatiently.) 

She — Please  don’t  sulk. 
I abominate  sulkiness  in  a 
man.  Well,  if  you’re  not 
going  to  speak  to  me,  we’d 
better  separate. 

He— (Looks  at  her  with 
surprise.) 

She — You’ve  nothing  to 
say  even  to  that?  No,  don’t 
answer  me.  Don’t  attempt 
any  apology. 

He — (Wheels  his  chai 
to  window,  with  back  to 
her.) 

She — That’s  right!  In- 
sult me!  Haven’t  I always 
been  a good,  faithful  wife 
to  you?  Why  are  you  con- 
siderate to  every  one  but 
me? 

He  — (Turns  h’S  head 
over  chair  and  looks  at  her 
with  friendly  gesture.) 

She — Yes,  that’s  all  very 
well;  but  it  seems  extreme- 
ly hard  for  you  to  show  any  sympathy  for  the  woman 
who  loves  you. 

He — (Gets  up  and  advances  toward  her.) 

She — Not  another  step ! I insist  on  knowing  every, 
thing  you’ve  done  since  you  left  the  office! 

He— (Smiles.) 


until  he  spied  his  wife’s  unfinished  piece  of  fancy 

work  of  spider-web  design. 


UNDER  FIRE. 


May — “ There  were  several  army  officers  there,  but  not 
one  of  them  asked  me  to  dance.’’ 

Belle — “ And  they  are  accustomed  to  the  smell  of  pow- 
der, too.” 


Shi  (sobbing) — This  is  only 
the  beginning  of  my  misery  ! 

He — (Stands  aghast.  Then 
again  he  approaches  her.) 

She  — No;  you’ve  broken 
my  heart.  My  poor  mother 
told  me  how  it  would  be.  She 
said  I would  find  you  out  some 
day. 

He — (Whistles  in  astonish- 
ment.) 

She — Now  you’re  swearing 
under  your  breath.  Why,  why 
did  you  deliberately  select  this 
day  of  all  others  to  make  me 
miserable?  I know  you  forgot 
all  about  it. 

B?e — (Shakes  his  head.) 

She — Oh,  don’t  make  mat- 
ters worse  by  denying  it! 

He — (Takes  a step  toward 
the  cradle.) 

She  — Don’t  touch  her! 

Yjos’ve  no  feeling  fc^  either  of 
us.  Why  don’t  you  speak? 

He  — (Loses  patience  and 
walks  up  and  down  the  room.) 

She— Why  did  I marry  a man  with  such  a temper? 

He— (Raises  his  hands  in  astonishment.) 

She — Can’t  I make  you  see  how  terribly  you  treat 
me? 

He — (Drops  his  hands  in  despair.) 

She  — Not  a 
thought  of  me  while 
you’re  away!  Why 
can’t  you  think  of 
my  happiness  some- 
times? 

He  — (Gives  a 
chuekle  and  puts 
his  hand  in  his 
pocket.) 

She  — Utterly 
callous — ijitterly — 

He  — (Takes 
hand  out  of  pocket 
and  hands  her  a vel- 
vet jewel  case.) 

She — I’m— (see- 
ing the  case  and 
reading  the  inscrip- 
tion) — “To  my 
dear  Wife  on  her 
birthday.”  So  it 
was  to  buy  this  you 
were  late?  Oh,  you 
dear  hubby,  I do 
love  you! 

(They  embrace, 
and  the  baby  cries 
with  fervor.) 


A CINCH. 

Teacher — “You  must  be  a good  boy  and  study 
hard,  and  maybe  you’ll  grow  up  to  be  a great  man 
and  have  your  birthday  celebrated,  too” 

Bobby — “ Wot  good  ’ud  dat  do  me?  I wuz 
born  on  de  Fourth  uv  July.” 


[Author’s  Note — The  care- 
ful reader  has  observed  that  in 
all  this  conversation  the  hus- 
band did  not  say  a word.  As  usu- 
al, the  woman  did  all  the  talk- 
ing-] 

Desperate  Remedies. 

¥T  WAS  just  before  daybreak 
- — the  darkest  hour  of  the 
night.  The  shutters  of  a 
third-story  window  in  a large 
summer  hotel  noiselessly  open- 
ed and  a heavy  object  was 
cautiously  lowered  to  the 
ground.  A young  man  in 
fashionable  clothes,  gripping  a 
heavy  hand-bag  in  his  teeth 
and  an  umbrella  and  a cane 
under  his  arm,  slid  hurriedly 
down  the  rope  to  the  ground. 
With  nervous  fingers  he  untied 
his  suit-case,  tiptoed  out  of 
the  yard,  and  started  at  a trot 
across  lots  to  the  station  a 
mile  and  a half  away. 

The  first  golden  beams  were 
dancing  across  the  eastern  hills  as  the  young  man  neared 
the  depot.  The  sleeper  whistled  sharply  for  the  station 
and  he  quickened  his  pace  into  a mad  run,  heedless  of 
his  aching  arms  and  the  sand  in  his  low  shoes. 

muttered  the  young  man 
three  minutes  later 
in  the  smoker  as  he 
wiped  his  steaming 
face,  “ but  my  bills 
are  all  paid.  I left 
tips  for  the  ser- 
vants and  a hurried 
note  explaining 
that  an  uncle  had 
died  in  Honduras  or 
some  other  place. 
It  certainly  was  a 
desperate  chance, 
but  the  only  means 
I could  th'ink  of  to 
get  away  from  that 
straw  ride  the  girls 
have  planned  for 
to-morrow.  ” 

DON.  CAMERON  SHAFER. 


It’s  a bad  get-away,’ 


PARTICLE  OF  SMOKE,  CONTAINING  FOURTH  OF  JULY 
MICROBE,  HIGHLY  MAGNIFIED. 


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spread,  his 
rudder  swinging 
wildly,  his  craft 
shipping  water  as 
it  bears  away,  hell- 
bent for  nowhere — 
such  is  a blusterer. 


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On  Business  Principles 

By  E.  MIRRIELEES 


I HAD  had  Peter  plant  hyacinths  on  my  Uncle  Wil- 
liam’s grave  and  they  had  bloomed  and  faded; 
then  I had  had  him  plant  roses,  and  they  had 
bloomed  and  faded,  and  still  the  murderer  of  my 
Uncle  William  was  undiscovered. 

As  my  Uncle  William’s  heir  and  business  successor, 
I felt  this  condition  of  affairs  bitterly,  and  it  was  as  the 
result  of  brooding  over  it,  and  over  his  dying  charge  to 
me,  that  I at  last  determined  to  engage  my  friend  Keene 
to  ferret  out  the  mystery.  Mr.  Keene  was  a gentleman, 
nominally  a lawyer,  who  dwelt,  quite  retired  from  the 
world,  in  the  heart  of  Brooklyn.  Only  myself  and  a few 
intimate  friends  knew  that,  in  fact,  the  profession 
of  law  was  his  pastime,  and  that  his  real  occupation 
was  the  hunting  down  of  famous  criminals  and  the 
solving  of  those  important  problems  which  had  al- 
ready baffled  the  law-enforcing  world. 

It  was  the  very  simplicity  of  my  case  which  so 
far  had  kept  me  from  him.  Finally,  however,  de- 
spair drove  me  to  an  appeal,  and  hardly  had  my 
messenger  had  time  to  return  from  the  great  man’s 
retreat,  before  Keene  himself  followed  in  person,  to 
gain  from  me  a few  additional  details.  I offered  to 
show  him  the  room  in  which  the  murder  had  been 
committed,  but  he  refused  with  characteristic  de- 
cision. 

“ No— tell  me  about  it.  There’s  not  much  to  a 
simple  thing  like  this.  No  use  climbing  stairs.” 


SWEET  POTATOES. 


“ It’s  on  this  floor,”  I answered;  “but  I can  tell 
you.  It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  seventeenth  of 
April  at  about  seven-forty  o’clock  ” 

“ Never  mind  the  hour.” 

“ Well,  I won’t,  then.  It  was  on  the  evening  of 
the  seventeenth  of  April  that  I determined  to  come 
downstairs  ” 

“ I don’t  care  what  you  did !”  cried  Keene,  spring- 
ing out  of  his  chair.  “ Get  to  the  murder!” 

I looked  at  him  in  perplexity.  I was  afraid  these 
little  interruptions  would  make  me  inaccurate. 

“I’m  sorry,”  I said,  “I  can’t  tell  the  story  any 
jther  way.  I’ve  told  it  eo  often.”  And  I went  on 
with  my  recital. 


“ That  I determined  to  come  downstairs  and  get 
my  book  from  the  library.  I was  reading  ‘ Peter  Pan.' 
I opened  the  door  and  saw  my  Uncle  William  lying  on 
the  floor,  with  the  remnant  of  a wallet  clasped  in  his 
hand;  his  skull  had  been  fractured  by  some  blunt  instru- 
ment. There  was  no  one  in  the  room,  for  I looked;  but 
there  was  a low  window  opening  on  the  street,  through 
which  a murderer  might  have  come.  My  uncle  recovered 
consciousness  only  once.  That  was  long  enough  to  seize 
my  hand  and  say,  ‘Willy,  discover  my  murderer!  I 
charge  you,  discover  my  murderer!’  Then  he  died.” 
“That’s  important!”  Keene  broke  in.  “That’s 


THOSE  MOUNTAIN-RESORT  GIRLS. 


Lady  boarder , at  same  house — “ Oh,  Mr.  Spriggins — John — 
won’t  you  please  pick  that  sweet  spray  of  columbine  on  your 
way  up  ?” 


THE  SUCCESSOR  TO  THE  BIG-FISH  STORY. 


HE  SPOKE  FEELINGLY. 


Motorist — “I  suppose  all  the  police  around  here  use  stop-watches?” 

Native — “ Haw  ! They  relies  most  on  their  own  judgments.  Stop- 
watches is  too  accurate.’’ 


the  murderer’s  place  and  decide  what 
you'd  do.  Can  you  be  at  home  to-mor- 
row night?  No?  Well,  the  night  after? 
And  you’d  better  give  me  a check  for 
half  that  money  now,  and  have  the  rest 
by  you.” 

.On  the  night  in  question  I remained 
at  home,  pacing  up  and  down  my  library 
in  a state  of  great  excitement.  Would 
Keene  come  himself?  Or  would  the  mur- 
derer be  dragged  in  by  policemen?  I 
was  so  deep  in  speculation  that  I was 
only  half  conscious  of  a low  tapping  at 
the  library  door  until  the  door  was  slid 
softly  open  from  without.  A thin,  un- 
dersized young  man  stood  on  the  thresh- 
old, peering  near-sightedly  at  me  through 
heavy  glasses.  He  held  an  evening  paper 
in  his  hand. 

“Good-evening,”  he  murmured,  when 
I noticed  him.  “ I am  speaking  with  Mr. 
Herrick?” 

“ Yes,  with  Mr.  William  Herrick,”  I 


awfully  important ! Are  you  sure  that’s 
just  what  he  said?” 

“ Exactly.  He  said  just  those  words. 
Then  he  died.” 

“I  see,”  said  Keene  thoughtfully. 
Then  what  you  want  to  do  is  ” — — 

“To  discover  him!  I don’t  care  so 
much  about  getting  back  the  money — 
there  was  eight  thousand  in  that  wallet 
— I don’t  even  care  about — er — exposing 
the  villain.  But  I must  fulfill  my  uncle’s 
dying  charge.” 

“I  see,”  Keene  repeated,  this  time 
more  thoughtfully.  “ Well,  how  much 
are  you  willing  to  pay  for  it — to  cover 
expenses,  of  course?” 

“Twenty  thousand  dollars,”  I an- 
swered firmly.  It  was  a large  sum,  but 
peace  of  mind  is  worth  something;  and, 
besides,  I had  underestimated  my  Uncle 
William’s  life  insurance  by  exactly  twen- 
ty thousand.  “We  have  found  out  a 
few  things,”  I went  on.  “The  detec- 
tives have  discovered  that  the  murderer 
brushed  against  the  window  casings  in 
getting  in,  showing  that  he  was  a large, 
stout  man  who  had  difficulty  in  passing. 
He  must  have  seen  my  Uncle  William 
from  the  street,  and  from  that  they 

thought  his  eyes  ” 

“Don’t  tell  me  what  they  thought!” 
Keene  checked  me.  “ Can’t  you  see  I’m 
thinking?” 

He  sunk  his  head  in  his  hands  for  a 
minute  or  two.  Then  he  rose,  reaching 
for  his  hat  and  cane.  “ It’s  perfectly 
simple,”  he  said.  “ Just  put  yourself  in 


LUNAR  INHABITANTS  ARE  FOND  OF  POINTING  OUT  TO 
THEIR  CHILDREN,  ON  A CLEAR  NIGHT,  “THE 
WOMAN  IN  THE  EARTH  ” 


assured  him.  I suppressed  the  accustomed  “junior”  with 
a sigh. 

The  stranger  started  slightly  at  the  name.  “ Then  I 
think  we  have  a little  business  together,”  he  said,  after 
a moment.  He  closed  the  door  carefully,  and,  coming 
forward,  laid  the  paper  he  was  carrying  in  the  circle  of 
light  on  the  table.  I noticed  that  it  was  open  at  the 
“ Wants  ” page.  One  advertisement  in  the  column  was 
heavily  starred. 

*‘$10,000  Reward- — If  the  slight,  near-sighted 
man  who,  on  the  evening  of  April  17th,  mur- 
dered a gentleman  in  his  library  will  call  at 
the  house  of  the  gentleman  in  question,  be- 
tween the  hours  of  seven  and  nine,  he  will  re- 
ceive the  above  reward.  No  questions.” 


I laid  down  the  paper,  half  dazed.  I recognized  the 
hand  of  Keene;  but  the  genius,  the  superlative  clever- 
ness of  his  move  left  me  breathless.  He  had  put  my 
appeal  directly  to  the  man  himself;  he  had  even  omitted 
giving  a house  number,  so  that  none  but  the  right  man 
might  apply.  And  yet,  when  I glanced  at  the  new- 
comer, a doubt  stirred  within  me. 

“I’m  the  man,”  said  the  stranger.  “My  name  is 
Mills,  and  I did  it.  I was  sorry  to  do  it,”  he  added, 
“ but  I needed  the  money.  ” 

“You  are — not  large,”  I ventured. 

Mr.  Mills  shook  his  head.  “ I’m  very  strong.  I’ve 
been  a gymnasium  worker  all  my  life.  Besides,  1 had 
my  cane.  I came  quietly  in  through  the  window,  and 
Mr.  Herrick  was  sitting  with  his  back  to  me — why,  just 


sit  down  in  that  chair  for  a minute,  and  I’ll  show 
you  ” 

“ No — no,  thank  you,”  I demurred.  “ I quite  believe 
it  was  you.” 

“Well,  then,”  Mr.  Mills  suggested.  His  eyes 
dropped  significantly  to  the  heading  of  the  advertisement. 

I went  to  the  safe,  Unlocked  it,  and  counted  out  the 
money.  I looked  over 
my  shoulder  once  or  twice 
as  I did  so,  but  my  guest 
remained  standing  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  table. 

I felt  a little  ashamed, 
then,  of  having  looked, 
but  you  can’t  help  being 
nervous.  When  the 
money  was  counted,  I 
laid  the  roll  of  bills  on 
the  straw  hat  which  Mr. 

Mills  had  deposited  on 
the  table.  “And  now,” 

I said  impressively,  “ I 
hope  that  you’ll  ” 

“Reform”  was  the 
word  I meant,  but  it  was 
“ prosper”  which  came. 

Mr.  Mills  smiled  fee- 
bly at  me  and  nodded.  He 
seemed  to  be  struggling 
against  some  embarrass- 
ment. 

“See  here,”  he  said 
at  last.  “ I understand 


you  can’t  feel  very  kindly  to  me,  but  I want  you  to  see 
how  it  was.  I’d  like  to  talk  the  matter  over.” 

I waved  my  arm  toward  a chair;  he  seated  himself 
on  its  edge. 

“ I told  you  I needed  the  money,”  he  repeated,  in  a 
firmer  voice.  “ I was  not  in  debt,  but  I was  not  estab- 
lished in  any  way  of  life.  I took  that  eight  thousand 

and  invested  it  in  the 
stock  of  a small  drug- 
store. I have  gotten  on 
nicely  in  a small  way — 
I hope  to  own  my  build- 
ing before  long — but,  all 
the  same,  it  has  worried 

me  that  my  start  was 

not  entirely  honest.  You 
know  how  those  things 
can  trouble  a man.  I’ve 
fairly  brooded  over  it. 
So  when  I saw  this  offer 
— and  I knew  it  would 
be  a long  time  before  I 
could  take  that  much  out 
of  the  business — I de- 
cided to  get  the  matter 
off  my  mind.” 

He  laid  a part  of  the 
. roll  of  bills  on  the  table. 
“There!”  he  said, 
rising;  “there’s  your 
eight  thousand.  It’s  go- 
ing to  be  a great  relief 
to  me  to  know  that 


XengI£i%. 


ACCURATE. 

Landlady — “ My  other  tenants  complained  of  the  noise  last 
night.  You  assured  me  that  you  retired  early.” 

Nenv  tenasit — “ So  I do,  so  I do — early  in  the  morning.  ’’ 


ANNOYING. 


Photography  enthusiast  (while  drowning  man  calls  for  help) — “ Confound  that  fellow  ! How  does  he  expect  me  to 
do  two  things  at  once  ?”  * 


A BAjl>  OUTLOOK. 

Mrs.  Weighty — “ Rowing  so  much  will  make  you  real  strong  when  you  grow  up  to  be  a man.” 
Slimmy  (the  boatman) — “I  don’t  believe  I’ll  live  to  grow  up,  mum.” 


everything  I have  invested  is  my  own.”  He  hesitated  a 
moment,  twirling  his  hat  between  his  fingers. 

“ 1— I hope  there’s  no  hard  feeling.  It  was  a very 
clever  advertisement,”  he  murmured. 

I rose,  too.  I was  even  more  embarrassed  than  he. 
As  he  said,  there  could  not  be  a very  cordial  relation  be- 
tween us — he  had  undoubtedly  murdered  my  Uncle  Wil- 
liam. But,  on  the  other  hand,  eight  thousand  is  a good 
deal  to  get  back  unexpectedly  all  at  once.  Besides,  I’m 
collecting  my  uncle’s  rents  now,  and  we  frequently  open 
that  library  window  for  ventilation. 

“ Do  you  mean  to — will  you — call  again?”  I ventured, 
as  he  vanished  through  the  door. 

Didn’t  Matter  Much. 

HE  LOVE-SICK  young  man  ran  up  the  steps  and 
was  met  at  the  door  by  a very  pretty  young  lady. 

“Constance,”  he  said  eagerly,  as  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  her,  “ did  you  get  my  letter  this  morning?” 

“ No,  ” carelessly  returned  she;  “I  presume  Vivian 
took  it.” 

“Vivian!”  The  swain  blushed  profusely.  “ 
that  letter  was  ad- 
dressed to  you !” 

“ Yes ; but  Vivian 
and  I are  twins  and 
look  alike,  you  know. 

Indeed,  our  most  in- 
timate friends  often 
mistake  each  for  the 
other!” 

“ But  your  names 
are  nothing  alike,” 
stammered  the  be- 
wildered young  man. 

“ I wrote  ‘Constance 
Withers  ’ very  plain- 
ly on  the  outside  of 


that  letter.  I don’t  see  how  any  such  mistake  could 
be  made.” 

“ Oh,  it  wasn’t  a mistake!  Anyhow,  it  doesn’t  make 
much  difference.” 

“ What?  Constance,  that  letter  contained  more  than 
you  think ! In  it  I made  apology  for  my  too  ardent  ac- 
tions before  you  last  night;  and,  furthermore,  I sent  it 
to  ask  you  if — if  you  would  be  my  ” 

“ But  it  belonged  to  Vivian  !” 

“ Are  you  crazy?  I beg  pardon!  I meant — goodness 
gracious ! how  has  Vivian  anything  to  do  with  the  let- 
ter?” 

“ Because  when  you  made  love  last  night  you  mistook 
Vivian  for  me !”  charles  c.  mullin. 

Observations  of  a Sport. 

QOME  people  are  temporarily  embarrassed  all  the 
time. 

Many  a man  goes  fishing  and  comes  home  with  a 
hunted  look. 

Jug  not — that  ye  be  not  jugged. 

The  best  gamblers  don’t  gamble. 

Trumps  are  some- 
times found  in  the 
diicard. 

The  piper  has  been 
overpaid  — and  we 
are  still  dancing. 

ROBERT  CARLTON  BROWN. 


44  /¥'HERE’S  sorae- 
* thing  on 
foot.” 

“Why  do  you 
think  so?” 

“ I saw  him  go- 
ing into  a chiropo- 
dist’s.” 


Why, 


POPULAR  SONG. 

“ Ain’t  it  awful,  Mabel  ?” 


His  “Pitty  Itty  Picture 


99 


By  MAX  MERRYMAN 


a 


Y 


*ES;  IT’S  the  very  first  time  he  ever  had  his 
photograph  taken,  so,  of  course,  we  want 
to  get  the  very  best  picture  possible,  and 
— no,  grandma;  I don’t  think,  after  all, 
that  we’d  better  try  to  have 
it  taken  with  his  little  rat- 
tle in  hand.  Do  you,  Aunt 
Harriet?  You  see,  he  would 
be  apt  to  want  t®  shake  the 
rattle  at  the  very  moment 
when  the  photographer 
wants  him  to  be  perfectly 
still;  but  I don’t  believe  we 
can  get  him  to  keep  per- 
fectly still  for  ten  seconds. 

He  is  really  the  most  active 
..child  I ever  saw,  Mr.  Pho- 
tographer. He  doesn’t  even 
lie  still  in  his  sleep.  I real- 
ly think  that  it  is  nervous- 
ness more  than  anything- 
else.  The  doctor  says  that 
the  child  is  perfectly  well. 

In  fact,  I never  saw  a 
healthier  child.  He  has 
never  been  sick  a minute, 
and  he  is  six  months  old  to- 
day. I didn’t  want  his  pho- 
tograph taken  any  earlier 


I haven’t 


AN  ACCURATE  PHRASE. 

“Where  in  blazes  have  you  been,  Tom? 
seen  you  for  a year.” 

“ I’ve  been  in  New  York  blazes.  I’m  on  the  fire  de- 
partment, an’  this  is  me  day  off.  ” 


than  that,  for  I think  that  a baby  hardly  ever  has  much 
expression  until  he  is  about  six  months  old,  although 
every  one  says  that  our  little  Reginald  is  different 
from  most  babies  in  that  respect.  His  Aunt  Lucy  was 

saying  yesterday  that  he 
had  the  most  intelligent  ex- 
pression of  any — oh  ! I want 
several  negatives  taken,  and 
see  which  one  I like  best. 
His  grandma  — that  is,  my 
mother  here  — wants  one 
just  head  and  shoulders;  and 
his  other  grandma  is  very 
anxious  to  have  a full  fig- 
ure, with  him  lying  on  a 
pillow  we  brought  with  us. 
His  Aunt  Lucy  wants  us  to 
try  and  get  a profile  of  him 
for  her,  for  she  says  he  has 
really  a remarkable  profile 
for  a child  of  his  age;  and 
I want  one  picture  with  him 
in  my  arms,  and  his  dear 
little  cheek  cuddled  up  to 
mine;  and  then  we  think  it 
would  be  nice  to  have  him 
and  his  two  grandmas  taken 
together;  and  I want  one 
with  him  and  my  mother 


INFORMATION  WANTED. 

Nora  (just  over,  listening  to  her  first  phonograph) — “ Wondherful ! An’  shall  Oi  give  it  bird-seed  an’  sich,  loike  th 
others,  or  do  it  ate  at  th’  table  w d yez  ?” 


GUESS  THE  BOY’S  HOME  TOWN? 

Resident — “ Be  you  lost,  Bub  ?” 

Summer  boy — “That’s  a personal  matter  that  I decline  to  diseues  with 
an  individual  with  whom  I have  had  no  previous  acquaintance.,  nor  even  a 
formal  introduction.  ” - — 


and  myself  all  in  it,  showing  three  genera- 
tions. I think  that — better  not  fuss  with 
his  hair,  grandma.  Those  little  curls  are 
about  right,  and  I hope  they  will  show  good 
in  the  picture.  So  many  people  rave  over 
his  hair.  My  sister  has  a baby  boy,  ten 
months  old,  and  he  hasn’t  a third  as  much 
hair  as  our  baby  has  ; but  then  he  has  nev- 
er been  real  well,  and  he  weighs  a pound 
less  than  our  baby,  and — yes;  we  will  be 
ready  in  just  a few  minutes.  We  want  to 
slip  on  his  best  dress.  We  brought  it  with 
us  in  a box,  so  that  it  wouldn’t  be  all  mussed 
up  by  him  wearing  it.  Then  we  brought  his 
best  little  cap,  that  his  Aunt  Jennie  sent 
him  from  out  West,  and  we  want  one  taken 
with  it  on  to  send  to  her.  This  odd  little 
rattle  we  brought  is  one  his  grandma  had 
when  she  was  a baby,  and  she  thinks  it 
would  be  nice  to  have  it  in  his  hand  when  it 
is  taken.  I am  expecting  his  father  in  every 
minute.  He  said  that  he  would  meet  us 
here  at — here  he  is  now ! Here  we  are, 
papa,  baby  and  all,  and — see  him  hold  out 
his  little  hands  to  his  papa!  He  did  that 
when  he  was  only  four  months  and  one  week 
old,  and  a friend  of  mine  has  a baby,  eight 
months  old,  that  has,  never  yet  held  out  its 
hands  to  any  one.  I want  one  photograph 
with  the  baby  in  his  father’s  arms,  and — be 
careful,  papa!  Don’t  get  the  child  excited, 
or  it  will  be  so  hard  to  get  him  still  for  his 
picture.  The  moment  he  sees  his  father  he 
wants  to  romp  and  play.  He  is  so  full  of 
vitality  and — no,  Aunt  Kitty,  I don’t  be- 
lieve that  we’d  better  all  go  into  the  operatrng-room 
with  him.  I think  that  if  his  papa  and  his  two  grand- 
mas and  I go  it  will  be  enough.  Too  many  might 
distract  him  and  make  it  hard  to  keep  him  still.  Is 
your  father  coming  in,  papa?  You  know,  he  said  when 
he  was  over  to  the  house  last  night  that  perhaps  he 


would  try  to  come  in,  and  we  thought  that  maybe  we 
would  have  him  and  you  and  the  baby  taken  together, 
as  you  all  have  the  same  name.  I do  think  that  it  is 
nice  to  hand  down  a family  name  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another,  and — yes,  we  will  be  ready  in  just 
a moment,  as  soon  as — now,  mamma’s  baby  is  going  to 


A DIPLOMATIC  HUSBAND. 

His  wife  was  always  kicking  because  he  spent  his  So  he  gave  wifey  some  shares  in  a mine,  and  she  was  up 

time  while  home  from  work  in  doping  up  the  stock  early  every  morning  to  get  the  paper, 
market  She  said  stocks  made  fools  of  people. 


ACCURATE,  BUT  MISLEADING. 


Pa — “ I think  you  should  make  a reduction  in  his  case.  He 
only  eats  one  meal  a day.” 

Lady — “ One  meal  a day?  Well,  well ! Yes  ; 1 can  make 
a reduction.  When  does  he  take  this  one  meal  ?” 

Pa — “ From  about  eight  a.  m.  till  twilight,  as  a rule.  ’’ 

have  his  own,  owney,  itty  picture  taken,  so  he  is, 
and  he  must  be  ever  and  ever  so — what?  Baby  isn’t 
going  to  cry!  Oh,  my,  my!  Tut,  tut,  tut!  He  won’t 
cry  long.  He  never  does.  A cousin  of  mine  has  a baby 
that  will  cry  all  night,  but,  of  course,  the  poor  child 
isn’t  well.  I don’t  think  that  well  babies  ever  cry  much, 
and  I know  that — papa,  you’d  better  step  out  of  sight 


until  I get  him  ready.  He  wants  to  go  to  you  when  you 
are  around.  I do  hope  that  the  pictures  will  come  out 
good.  You  see,  we  want  to  have  some  of  them  enlarged 
if  they  are  good,  and,  as  I say,  it  is  his  first  photograph, 
and — baby  doin’-to  have  his  own,  owney,  pitty  itty  pic- 
ture taken— yes,  he  is ! The  picture  man  will  show  baby 
itty  bird — yes,  he  will ! Baby  must  be  good.  Hand  me 
a safety-pin,  some  one.  Have  you  his  little  comb, 
grandma?  Aunty  Lou,  supposing  you  moisten  a corner 
of  my  handkerchief  with  water.  There  is  a tiny  smooch 
on  one  cheek.  There,  I think  he  is  about  ready.  I do 
hope  the  picture  will  come  out  good ! We  mean  to  have 
more  taken  on  his  first  birthday,  and  every  birthday 
after  that,  and — no,  papa,  I’d  better  carry  him  into  the 
operating-room.  Tome,  baby,  and  have  his  owney,  own, 
pitty  itty  picture  taken!” 

The  “Cord”  That  Wasn’t  Lost. 

44  1JINE  knot,”  the  woodman  said; 

* “ I’ll  soon  return  to  yew. 

The  train  I take  on  the  Oakland  branch 
Leaves  this  here  town  at  two.” 

She  saw  him  board  the  waiting  train; 

His  face  was  all  a-beam. 

They  took  his  trunk  and  threw  it  in. 

As  the  engine  got  up  steam. 

All  spruced  up,  home  at  last  he  came, 

A poplar  man  of  mark. 

She  met  him  there,  and  at  each  kiss 
Her  little  dog-wood  bark. 


STOVE,  STOVE,  WHO’S  GOT  THE  TLANGE? 


Old  Jones  (settling  argument) — “ I tell  yeh,  Congress  did  right  not  to  vote  the  people’s  money  fer  no  four  battleships. 
Why,  them  navy  fellers  is  thet  extravagant  an’  keerless  thet  they’re  all  the  time  losin’  an’  mislaying  their  stoves.  Every 
ship— I read  it  myself — hez  range-finders  onto  it !’’  ‘ 


A Square  Deal  and  a Square  Meal 

By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 


A DVICES  from  Washington  state  that  the  gum  on  the 
* * back  of  the  postage  stamps  is  made  of  sweet  po- 
tato. This  is  all  very  well  as  far  as  it  goes,  but  it  does 
not  go  far  enough.  If  the  public  gum  is  to  be  made  of 
food-stuffs,  why,  in  a republic  like  this,  should  one  man’s 
taste  be  permitted  to  prevail  over  another’s?  We  do  not 
all  of  us  care  for  sweet  potatoes,  and  we  cannot  be  com- 
pelled to  even  by  the  great  I Yam  himself,  for  all 
his  big  stick  and  its  power.  The  sweet  potato  is  not  a 
bad  thing,  but  there  are  thousands  of  us  with  cultivated 
gastronomic  tastes  who  prefer  other  edibles,  like  Cam- 
embert  cheese,  canvas-back  duck,  lobsters,  shrimp  salad, 
and  so  on — there  are  even  people  who  can  eat  squash 
with  relish.  Wherefore,  why  sweet  potatoes  exclu- 
sively? Are  all  these  other  tastes  to  be  ruthlessly  ig- 
nored because  some  bureaucrat  likes  sweet  potatoes? 
We  trow  not — not,  at  least,  if  this  is  the  age  of  the 
square  deal.  It  is  therefore  respectfully  suggested  that 
the  Post-office  Department  vary  that  recipe  a bit,  and 
give  us  a more  extensive  menu.  Let  the  one-cent  stamps 
be  gummed  with  sweet  potato,  if  you  will,  but  on  the 
twos  let  us  have  a hint  of  pickled  oysters;  give  us  a 
three-cent  stamp  flavored  with  stewed  rhubarb ; a four- 
cent  stamp  with  pumpkin  pie;  put  mint  sauce  on  the 
nickel  stamp;  and  so  on  up  to  the  highest  denomination, 
catering  as  the  stamps  rise  in  value  to  the  more  ex- 
pensive tastes.  Surely  if  the  man  who  never  buys  any- 
thing more  expensive  than  a penny  stamp  is  entitled  to 
his  sweet  potato — and  nobody  denies  that  he  is — the 
chap  who  buys  a dollar  stamp  should  be  able  to  get 


something  for  his  money  in  his  gum — as  the  office-boy 
says,  he  should  get  what  is  gumming  to  him — ruddy- 
duck,  pate  de  foie  gras,  or  even  a hint  of  a Bronx  cock- 
tail, if  that  is  what  he  likes. 

While  we  are  on  this  subject,  we  feel  constrained  to 
interpellate  the  Post-office  Department  also  on  the  point 
as  to  when  it  proposes  to  obey  the  mandates  of  the  pure- 
food  law  and  stamp  its  gum  with  a statement  of  its  in- 
gredients? 

Johnny’s  Fourth. 

JOHNNY  blew  his  eyebrows  off. 

“ I don’t  care,”  said  he. 

“ I can  make  another  pair 
With  a cork,  you  see.” 

When  his  fingers  went  he  said, 

“ Who  cares,  anyhow? 

I won’t  have  to  practice  on 
The  piano  now.” 

When  his  legs  departed  he 
Still  remained  quite  cool. 

“ Good  !”  he  chortled.  “ Now  I sha’n’t 
Have  to  walk  to  school.” 

So  it  went.  By  slow  degrees 
Johnny  blew  away, 

Celebrating  with  much  zest 
Independence  Day; 

And  when  night  came  on  the  scene 
Johnny  cried  with  glee, 

“ Now  there’s  nothing  left,  pa  won’t 
Have  to  bury  me!” 

HORACE  DODO  GASTIT. 


A TERRIBLE  THREAT. 

“ Now,  look  here,  wifey  ! If  you  don’t  stop  nagging  me  I’ll  never  button  you  up  the  back  again.** 


A RUSHING  BUSINESS. 

CITY-BRED  man,  who  had  never  been  to  the  sea- 
* * shore,  decided  one  day  to  make  the  trip. 

Arrived  there,  he  remembered  an  old  saying  that  sea 
water  was  good  to  bathe  aching  feet  in,  and  straightway 
he  took  a bucket  and  proceeded  to  the  seashore. 

He  noticed  a party  of  men  near  the  water,  and,  think- 
ing they  owned  the  sea  water,  he  asked,  “ What  do  you 
charge  for  a bucket  of  your  water?” 

“Twenty-five  cents,”  answered  one  of  the  party, 
who  .was  out  for  a joke. 

The  city  man  handed  over  a quarter  and  filled  his 
bucket. 

After  bathing  his  feet  in  the  salt  water  and  finding 
same  beneficial,  he  decided  later  in  the  day  to  go  and 
buy  him  another  bucket  for  another  bath  for  his  feet. 

He  accordingly  took  his  bucket  and  proceeded  again 
to  the  shore.  The  tide  had  now  gone  down  and  the 
water  was  at  low  ebb. 

“ H’m,”  he  mused;  “ those  fellows  must  have  been 
doing  a rushing  business  since  I left!” 

Benjamin  J.  Strauch,  Memphis,  Tenn. 

A GOOD  REASON. 

^TpHE  OTHER  day  the  school  of  a local  town  was  vis- 
A ited  by  an  inspector.  Wishing  to  test  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  junior  classes  before  leaving,  he  asked  the 
following  question : 

“ Can  any  of  you  tell  me  yphy  Adam  was  made  a man?” 

The  class  meditated  for  some  time.  At  last  a little 
girl,  sharper  than  the  rest,  exclaimed,  “ Please,  sir,  if 
he  was  made  a baby  there  wouldn’t  have  been  anybody 
to  nurse  him!” 

Walter  Willse,  Jersey  City,  N.  J. 


MORE  LOVE-LESS  DIVORCES. 

lVVIORE  of  our  rich  papas  in  America  should  follow  the 
same  manner  of  testing  the  affections  of  the  ad- 
venturous, commercial-minded,  moneyless  wife-hunters 
— both  those  of  our  own  nationality  as  well  as  the 
empty-headed,  titled  foreigners  who  are  “ ramping”  on 
our  hunting  grounds — that  “ Uncle  Zeke  ” did  in  Austin 
some  time  since.  After  several  months  of  violent  pro- 
testations of  love  made  for  his  daughter,  it  was  at  last 
understood  that  the  father  was  at  their  marriage  to  give 
his  daughter  a house  and  lot.  “ Uncle  Zeke  ” was  a sly 
old  coon,  and  to  test  his  future  son-in-law’s  affections, 
he  said,  as  they  were  smoking  their  pipes, 

“ Mr.  Crow,  I has  been  cogitatin’,  an’  has  come  to  de 
’elusion  not  to  donate  Matildy  dat  ar  house  an’  lot  on 
Austin  Avenue.” 

Mr.  Crow  sprang  to  his  feet  and,  sticking  his  stove- 
pipe hat  on  the  side  of  his  head,  said, 

“ In  dat  case,  sah,  our  future  relations  done  ceased  to' 
exist  from  dis  moment,  sah.” 

“ But,  Mr.  Crow,  I was  gwine  to  say  ” 

“ Oh,  go  hire  a hall  an’  invite  yer  friends  to  attend 
de  meetin’ !” 

“ All  right,  Mistah  Crow.  Our  relations  has  done 
ceased  to  exist,  but  I only  wanted  to  say  dat  dat  house 
am  too  small,  so  I am  gwine  to  gib  Matildy  dat  two-story 
cottage  on  Peacon  Street,  wuf  twict  as  much.” 

Jim  tried  to  explain,  also;  but  when  “ Uncle  Zeke  ” 
solemnly  lifted  a boot  the  size  of  a ham  and  pointed  to 
the  door,  James  Crow  refused  to  linger. 

Alice  Rollins  Crane-Morajeska,  Redondo  Beach,  Cal. 


A BUTCHER  in  Euknow,  with  a tobacco  heart,  was 
* * told  by  his  doctor  to  give  up  smoking  hams. 


THEY  HELPED  HIM  TO  RECALL  HIS  BOYHOOD. 

1 “ I tell  you,  boys,  it  makes  me  feel  twenty  years  younger  2.  Somewhat  later, 

to  be  back  here  in  the  old  sw:mming-hole  once  more  !’’ 


A Close  Game 

By  CHARLES  L.  FUNNELL 


PEAKING  of  close  games  always  puts  me  in 
mind  of  a game  we  played  a few  years  ago. 

It  happened  in  our  game  with  the  Sluggers. 
They  came  to  Lemonhurst  to  play  us,  and  we 
used  a couple  of  those  new  balls,  made  in  two  parts, 
you  know,  and  are  “guaranteed  to  last  a full  game.” 
The  first  inning  went  off  fine,  but  in  the  beginning  of 
the  second  we  went  to  the  bat,  and  Bill  Nigh,  our  center 
fielder,  was  up.  Pretty  soon  he  seen  a slow  in  coming 
his  way,  and  he  stepped  back  and  lammed  it.  It  hit  on 
the  edge  of  his  bat  and  so 
went  almost  straight  into 
the  air.  Bill,  he  set  sail  for 
first  and  then  went  off  on  the 
other  tack  for  second.  See- 
ing he  had  head  winds  for 
third,  he  started  his  auxili- 
ary and  went  around  third  on 
two  wheels  and  crossed  the 
plate  at  a record.  When  he 
got  there,  though,  he  was 
surprised  to  see  everybody 
rubbering  skyward  instead 
of  waiting  to  slap  him  on  the 
back.  The  ball  hadn’t  come 
down  yet.  Well,  the  um- 


pire he  looked  plumb  through  the  rule-book  five  times 
and  couldn’t  find  nothing  to  fit  the  occasion,  so  he  al- 
lowed he’d  give  it  five  minutes  to  come  down,  and  if  it 
didn’t  show  up  then  he’d  resume  the  game.  Well, 
would  you  believe  it,  that  ball  never  come  down.  We 
resumed  the  game,  and  the  stand  was  pretty  nervous 
because  they  didn’t  know  just  where  that  ball  would 
come  down.  We  resumed  with  the  other  two-piece  ball, 
and  we  didn’t  get  a run  the  rest  of  that  inning.  The 
score  was  three  to  one  in  our  favor  when  we  went  to 

the  bat  in  the  third.  Our 
second  baseman  got  up,  and, 
being  a south  paw,  he  fa- 
vored ins  and  walked  into  a 
nice  one  just  as  it  crossed 
the  plate.  The  ball  busted 
in  two  pieces,  and  our  man 
ran  to  first.  -The  pitcher 
stopped  half  the  ball  and 
shortstop  the  other.  The 
pitcher  being  rather  slow 
didn’t  catch  on  to  the  racket, 
but  shortstop  threw  the  half 
he  got  to  first  and  put  him 
half  out.  Pitcher  made  the 
motion  with  his  half  and 


“THREE  WICKS.” 

Courtship,  Marriage.  Divorce. 


TRUE  ENOUGH. 

He  (thinking  aloud) — “ The  way  these  women  claim  to  be  independent  and  then  become  slaves 
to  a silly  fashion  ! Why,  these  absurd  big  hats  tickle  me  half  to  death.” 


as  the  catcher  had  been  gazing  when  taken  with  his  fit,  the  pitcher 
saw  the  cause  of  his  excitement  in  the  shape  of  a baseball,  a good 
way  off,  but  rapidly  approaching.  Following  a sort  of  second 
nature  developed  by  ball  players,  he  got  under  it  and  caught  it. 
Then  it  dawned  on  him  that  it  was  the  same  ball  that  Bill  had 
hit  the  day  before.  He  promptly  called  the  umpire,  who  identified 
the  sphere  and  declared  Bill  out,  and  the  final  score  six  and  five- 
eighths  to  six  in  our  favor.  That  was  the  closest  game  I ever  see. 

A Philosophical  Poem. 

WHAT  a wonderful  thing  is  one’s  nose — 

The  guide  to  wherever  one  goes. 

It  bows  low  when  we  pray, 

And  is  first  in  the  fray, 

And  it  tells,  with  its  smells,  all  it  knows. 

What  remarkable  things  are  one’s  ears — 

Undismayed  by  whatever  appears. 

Though  they  keep  far  apart, 

They  are  loyal  at  heart — 

Each  tells  one  whatever  it  hears. 

And  consider  one’s  fingers  and  toes — 

Arranged,  five  together,  in  rows. 

If  they  grew  on  one’s  back, 

What  convenience  we’d  lack — ■ 

And  one  couldn’t  lie  down,  I suppose. 

RANDOLPH  HARTLEY. 


IMAGINATION. 

How  that  expensive,  big,  red  firecracker 
looks  to  the  small  boy  on  Independence  Day. 

runner  went  to  second,  where  he  was  put  a 
fourth  more  out  by  the  half  of  the  ball  first 
threw  to  second.  Force  of  habit  made  the 
runner  leave  second  when  pitcher  made  the 
next  motion,  and  he  was  caught  on  third  by 
second  base’s  half  of  the  ball,  making  him 
altogether  seven-eighths  out.  Third  threw 
his  half  to  pitcher,  and  catcher  threw  his  at 
the  same  time,  and,  while  pitcher  was  try- 
ing to  catch  on,  the  runner  got  in,  making 
one-eighth  of  a run.  Now  the  pitcher  stuck 
the  pieces  together  and  threw  them  both  to 
batter.  Before  they  reached  the  plate, 
though,  they  parted  company,  and  the  first 
piece  the  batter  knocked  right  into  first’s 
hands,  but  the  second,  which  came  a minute 
later,  he  lammed  out  for  a home  run,  mak- 
ing one-half  a run.  Then  the  umpire,  who 
had  been  teaching  the  scorekeeper  algebra 
so  he  could  keep  score,  called  for  the  other 
ball  which  hadn’t  come  down  yet.  So  we 
sent  a kid  after  a ball  made  all  in  one  piece, 
guaranteed  not  to  get  the  divorce  fever. 
Well,  the  rest  of  the  game  we  made  four 
runs  and  they  five,  so  the  final  score  was 
seven  and  five-eighths  to  six  in  our  favor. 
I said  final,  but  the  next  day,  when  their 
pitcher  and  catcher  were  having  a catch  in 
our  field,  before  taking  the  train  for  home, 
the  catcher  suddenly  went  into  a conniption 
fit  and  began  jumping  up  and  down  to  beat 
the  band.  Looking  in  the  same  direction 


DELICACY. 

“How’d  yo’  like  ter  do  dat  fo’  me  fo’  life,  Miss  Johnsing  ?” 


One  on  the  Soda  Clerk 

By  N.  H.  CROWELL 


*1*HE  DAY  was  hot  and  business  at  the  soda  fountain 
* had  been  of  the  rush  description.  The  clerk  at 
the  upper  end  was  enjoying  a breathing  spell  when  a tall, 
thin  man  in  a bamboo  hat  dashed  in  hurriedly  and  walked 
briskly  up  to  the  bar. 

“Just  give  me  half  a glass  of  water,  will  you?’’ 
jerked  the  newcomer,  as  he  threw  up  his  elbows  and 
“lit”  on  a stool.  The  clerk  obligingly  drew  half  a 
glass  of  water  and  slid  it  in  front  of  him,  bracing  him- 
self for  further  orders. 

“ A slice  of  that  lemon — just  a wafer,”  suggested  the 
newcomer,  with  sudden  interest. 

The  clerk,  though  slightly  bewildered,  complied.  The 
man  dropped  the  lemon  into  the  water  and  then  put  both 
hands  into  his  coat  pockets.  His  right  hand  brought  up 
a pint  bottle  of  whiskey  and  his  left  produced  an  egg. 
Skillfully  cracking  the  egg  with  a blow  he  dumped  the 
contents  into  the  glass,  following  it  immediately  by 
three  stiff  fingers  of  the  liquor.  Diving  into  a vest 


pocket  he  produced  a sprig  of  green  that  proved  to  be 
mint.  This  went  in  and  the  man  then  slightly  rose  on 
his  toes  and  scanned  the  array  o?  condiments  and  flavors 
before  him.  Suddenly  he  shot  out  a long  arm  and 
clutched  the  cinnamon  shaker. 

A few  dashes  of  cinnamon  and  he  seized  a soda  spoon 
from  a near-by  rack  and  began  stirring  the  mixture  dex- 
terously. When  a bead  appeared  on  top  he  withdrew 
the  spoon,  yanked  the  glass  to  his  lips  and  drank  the 
contents  in  six  big,  satisfying  gulps. 

Setting  the  empty  glass  down  carefully,  as  he  wiped 
his  taffy-colored  mustache  with  a handkerchief,  he  rose 
slowly  to  his  feet. 

“ Gee!  Ain’t  this  a warm  one?”  he  remarked,  as  he 
tugged  at  his  collar  in  an  effort  to  loosen  it  from  his 
neck. 

Then  he  went  out,  leaving  the  clerk  weak  in  the 
knees  and  absolutely  speechless.  He  had  been  up 
against  the  very  latest. 


Also,  Consarn  It. 

UP  IN  the  mountains  I would  hie 
And  have  a cool  time  in  July 
At  some  resort  hotel  up  nigh 
The  summit. 

I’d  have  the  finest  time,  you  know. 
There’s  just  one  reason  I don’t  go — 

I can’t  accumulate  the  dough, 

Gol  dum  it! 

I’ve  often  planned  a gay  career 
Of  life  at  Narragansett  Pier. 

I’ve  figured  that  most  every  year 
Would  bring  it; 

But  somehow,  and  I don’t  know  why, 
When  to  the  ocean  I would  fly, 

My  roll  of  long  green  turns  out  shy, 

Gol  ding  it! 

Last  year  I swore  that  I would  go 
To  Coney  for  a day,  you  know, 

And  take  a dollar  bill  or  so 
And  burn  it; 

But  when  that  long-expected  day 
Arrived  I found  I had  to  stay 
And  hustle  for  my  weekly  pay, 

.Gol  durn  it ! 

ROY  K.  MOULTON. 

Two  A.  M.  Maxims. 

AN  ICY  reception  befits  a skate. 

* “ A pickled  husband  gets  into  family 
jars. 

People  who  live  in  stone  houses  should 
throw  down  the  glass. 

Half  a bun  is  better  than  low  bred. 

Little  pitchers  hold  long  beers. 

The  wages  of  gin  is  breath. 


’TWAS  ITS  NATURE  TO. 

“ Hard  luck,  old  chap  ! But  you  were  interested  in  that  airship  that  the 
government  was  going  to  buy — how  about  that  ?” 

“ Oh,  that  went  ud  long  ago.” 


¥T  IS  reported  that  last  Sunday,  at  Swamp- 
* hurst,  N.  J.,  two  mosquitoes  became  in- 
toxicated with  rage  at  a mosquito  bar. 


A TIME  AND  PLACE  FOR  EVERYTHING. 


Passenger — “Do  you  seamen  often  see  the  sea-serpent?” 
Captain — “ Only  when  we’re  ashore  and  off  duty,  sir.” 

It  Was  the  Other  Nursery  She  Wanted. 

AN  ANXIOUS  mother  determines  to  ring  up  the  day 
nursery  to  ask  for  some  advice  as  to  her  child. 
Calling  for  the  nursery,  she  is  given  Gottfried 
Gluber,  florist  and  tree-dealer.  The  following  conversa- 
tion ensues : 

“ I called  for  the  nursery.  Is  this  the  nursery?” 

“ Yes,  ma’am.” 

“ I am  so  worried  about  my  little  Rose.” 

“ Vat  seems  to  be  der  madder?” 

“ Oh,  not  so  very  much,  perhaps,  but  just  a geneial 
listlessness  and  lack  of  life.” 

“ Ain’d  growing  righd,  eh?” 

“No,  sir.” 

“ Veil,  I vill  dell  you  vat  to  do.  You  dake  der  scis- 
sors und  cut  off  aboud  two  inches  from  der  limbs 
und” — — 

“ Wha-a-at?” 

“ I say,  dake  der  scissors  und  cut  off  aboud  two 
inches  from  der  limbs,  und  den  turn  der  garten  hose  on 

it  for  aboud  four  hours  in  der  morning” 

“ Wha-a-at?”  And  the  receiver  vibrated  at  her  tone. 
“ Turn  der  garten  hose  on  for  aboud  four  hours  in  der 
morning,  und  den  pile  a lot  of  plack  dirt  all  around  und 

shprinkle  mit  insegt  powter  all  ofer  der  top” 

“ Sir-r-r !” 

“ Shprinkle  mit  insegt  powter  all  ofer  der  top.  You 

know  usually  it  is  noddings  but  pugs  dot  ” 

“ How  dare  you,  sir?  What  do  you  mean  by  such 
language  to  me?” 

“ Noddings  but  pugs  usually  causes  der  troubles,  und 
den  you  vant  to  vash  der  rose  mit  a liquid  breparations 
I haf  for  sale  here  ”— — 

“ Who  in  the  world  a rt  you,  anyway?” 

“ Gottfried  Gluber,  der  florist.” 

“ O-o-oh!”  rather  weakly.  “Good-by.” 

W.  B.  HANSON. 

Precautions. 

De  Style — “ Does  he  fear  hydrophobia?” 

Gunbusta — “You  bet!  Why,  he  won’t  even  eat  a 
Coney  Island  frankfurter.” 


Man’s  Inhumanity. 

(with  the  latest  improvements.) 

OIR  JASPER,  the  Fire-eater,  was  still  for  a moment, 
“Yon  prisoner,”  he  meditated,  “was  once  ac- 
quainted with  a friend  of  the  cousin  of  mine  enemy, 
Now,  let  me  devise  something  lively,  even  energetic, 
for  him.” 

Sir  Jasper  ran  over  the  list  of  familiar  atrocities  on 
his  fingers,  toes,  and  the  legs  of  a passing  centipede. 

“ Naw,”  he  saith  at  length.  Sir  Jasper  was  sad  and 
kicked  a passing  cur  into  the  next  county. 

“I’  faith,”  he  declared,  “I  know  of  several  things 
that  should  keep  him  interested  for  a spell,  but  I can’t 
seem  to  strike  on  that  deliciousness  of  agony  that  I 
seek.” 

Sir  Jasper  musingly  sliced  off  the  ear  from  a page 
who  had  attracted  his  attention. 

“ But  hist,  and  hold,  methinks  I have  it.  Dog!”  he 
bawled  at  one  of  his  loving  servants,  who  drew  near  on 
hands  and  knees. 

Sir  Jasper  indicated  the  prisoner. 

“ Take  that,  and  put  him  in  a dress  shirt  that  scratch- 
eth  under  the  collar,  and  send  him  to  a dinner.” 

As  Well  As  Could  Be  Expected. 

Patient — “ Do  you  think  raw  oysters  are  healthy?” 

Physician — “ I never  knew  any  to  complain.” 


Knicker — “ It  doesn’t  always  pay  to  be  polite.” 
Bocker—“  No;  end-seat  hogs  are  never  sugar-cured.” 


HOW  HE  WORKED  IT. 

McCoffey  — “Gee  whiz,  Bill!  you  look  pretty  pros, 
perous  to  be  caught  eating  in  a lunch-wagon.’’ 

O' Sinkers — “That’s  how  I keep  looking  prosperous.” 


-A  LITTLE  BLACK  KING  VISITS  NEW  YORK  TO  STUDY  CIVILIZED  METHODS. 


1. 

Upon  landing  the  little  black  king  became  very  much  inter- 
ested in  our  many  automobiles.  One  in  particular  struck  him 
quite  forcibly.  ' 


\ 


3. 

At  the  Flatiron  building  he  gained  some  experience  in 
aerial  navigation. 


Then  a short  trip  through  busy  Broadway  gave  him  a fair 
idea  of  our  excellent  heating  system. 


4. 

Presently  the  little  black  king  returned  to  his  home  and  his 
people,  where  a banquet  was  prepared  in  his  honor  by  his  own 
hands.  And  after  the  sumptuous  repast  his  dusky  majesty 
spoke  at  length  of  his  experience  in  civilized  New  York  and  de- 
clared that  civilization  was  all  right,  provided  it  was  stewed 
down  in  a kettle  and  well  seasoned. 


Clubton’s  Venture  in  Keyholes 

By  GEORGE  FREDERICK  WILSON 


LUBTON,  fortunately  for  all  concerned,  was  a 
bachelor. 

It  required  a half-hour  of  ceaseless  effort  to 
fit  the  key.  One  minute  it  would  be  labori- 
ously scratching  its  way  to  victory,  only  to  be  widely 
swerved  from  its  course  the  next  by  a convulsive  hic- 
cough. Clubton  was  beyond  swearing.  A mirthless 
laugh,  a minute’s  rest,  and  then  another  tedious  and 
fruitless  effort.  Round  and  round  the  key  circled,  and 
then,  with  a quick  jab  as  though  he  were  spearing  fish, 
Clubton  would  bring  it  and  his  fingers  against  the  hard 
panel  of  the  door. 

When,  finally,  the  keyhole  was  located  and  the  key 
safely  inserted,  Clubton  grasped  it  convulsively  with 
both  hands  and  brought  his  entire  weight  to  bear  upon 
it.  He  turned  the  key  slowly,  fearing  that  his  hands 
would  slip  from  it,  and  because  of  his  full  weight 


against  it,  the  door  suddenly  swung  inward  and  Clubto 
sprawled  upon  the  floor. 

Dazed,  he  arose  slowly,  guiding  his  course  by  the 
wall,  and  groped  his  way  to  the  button  and  switched  on 
the  lights. 

He  closed  the  door,  and,  getting  a whiskbroom, 
brushed  carefully  his  clothing.  He  next  divested  him- 
self of  the  major  portion  of  his  personal  adornment  and 
threw  all  in  a heap  upon  the  floor.  Then  he  crawled 
into  bed  and  was  shortly  fighting  a nightmare. 

He  awoke  late  the  following  morning  considerably 
refreshed  and  feeling  chipper.  Clubton  was  an  old- 
timer,  and  “ the-morning-after  ” headaches  were  a thing 
of  a dim  past.  The  lights  were  still  burning  in  a vain 
attempt  to  outdo  the  sunshine.  His  clothing  lay  in  a 
heap  where  he  had  thrown  it,  save  for  one  shoe  which 
still  encompassed  his  right  foot,  the  other  posing  grace 


“UNCLE  TOM’S  CABBIN’.” 


CUT  RATES. 


Mrs.  Mulchacherty — “ Phat’s  the  price  of  this  mate  a pound?” 

Butcher — “Dot  iss  dvendy-doo  cents.” 

Mrs.  Mulchacherty — “ Thin  lit  me  have  three  ants’  worth,  and  don’t  be  afther  givin’  me  all  bone  ” 


h 


fully  on  the  chiffonier  where  his  hat  should  have  been. 
The  hat  itself  was  discovered  in  the- region  of  the  small 
of  his  back,  upon  an  investigation  of  a peculiar  and  un- 
comfortable pain  in  that  portion  of  his  anatomy. 


Clubton’s  groan  expressed  only  disgust. 

“ Confound  it,”  he  growled,  flinging  out  his  arms  in 
helpless  rage.  “ Why  can’t  I get  into  this  room  without 
a lot  of  useless  endeavor  to  locate  the  keyhole.  It’s 
that  confounded  hot  hallway  that  puts  me  in  this  condi- 
tion. Don’t  I know?”  he  snarled,  as  though  some  one 
had  disputed  the  statement.  “ I’m  never  in  a maudlin 
condition  when  I’m  in  the  street  and  can  breathe  the 
fresh  air.” 

Grumblingly  he  removed  the  balance  of  his  clothing 
and  went  into  the  bathroom. 

There,  during  his  ablutions,  he  raged  inwardly  over 
his  inability  to  locate  the  keyhole  on  his  first  effort. 
The  helpless,  useless  rage  gradually  expanded  into  an 
idea,  and  the  idea  grew  amazingly  as  he  fed  into  it  con- 
centrated thought. 

He  was  smiling  when  the  bath  was  completed — and 
smiled  all  the  way  down  to  his  office,  where  the  sign  on 
the  glass  of  the  door  proclaimed  to  all  that  he  was  an 
electrical  engineer.  • 

Instructing  his  clerk  against  interrupting  him,  he 
went  into  his  private  office  and  locked  the  door.  It  was 
Saturday,  and  few  came  to  be  turned  away. 

During  all  of  an  hour  Clubton  pored  over  the  contents 
of  an  electrical  library,  then  he  abruptly  left  the  office, 
to  return  a half-hour  later  with  a brown  paper  parcel. 
In  this  parcel  were  a large  lock,  key,  and  door  bracket, 
and  over  these  he  spent  an  hour  of  labor,  at  last  breath- 
ing a contented,  soul-satisfying  sigh. 

He  dined  at  the  club  and  afterward  strolled  about, 


awaiting  a full  house.  At 
nine  the  rooms  were  well 
filled  with  members  and  their 
friends,  and  Clubton  begged 
that  all  assemble  in  the 
smokeroom. 

His  request  was  hilarious- 
ly responded  to,  and  when  all 
had  quieted  down,  Clubton 
mounted  a chair. 

“Gentlemen,”  he  began, 

“ this  is  the  night  of  your 
emancipation.  All  of  you — 
no,  I refuse  to  make  excep- 
tions— have  upon  divers  oc- 
casions drunk  deep  of  the 
flowing  bowl.  Aye,  so  deep 
that  when  you  reached  home 
you  found  it  serious  and  diffi- 
cult labor  to  locate  the  key- 
hole. Gentlemen,” he  added, 
bringing  into  view  a lock  and 
key,  “ I wish  to  introduce  to 
you  to-night,  Clubton’s  Mag- 
netized Keyhole,  the  Abe  Lin- 
coln which  is  to  give  you 
freedom.  Note  the  absence 
of  all  mechanical  features.  It  is  just  a plain  lock  and 
key  doctored  with  electrical  juice.  The  secret  of  its 
marvelous  power  can  be  yours  alone,  as  you  need  but 


have  your  personal  nightkey 
treated.  I magnetize  the 
lock  and  key.  Note  the  re- 
sult.” 

He  extended  his  arms  un- 
til a distance  of  about  two 
feet  intervened  between  the 
lock  and  key.  Then  he  gradu- 
ally diminished  the  distance, 
and,  when  it  was  within  a 
foot  of  the  lock,  the  key  and 
Clubton’s  arm  were  jerked 
swiftly  to  the  lock,  the  key 
inserting  itself  speedily  and 
properly. 

“ Hold  tight  to  the  key, 
gentlemen,  and  it  will  guide 
you.  No  more  suspicious 
wives.  All  is  well  with  you. 
Before  you  close  the  door, 
withdraw  the  key,  as  the  cir- 
cuit between  the  bolt  of  the 
lock  and  the  bracket  is  then 
broken.  Come  up,  boys,  and 
place  your  order.  Prices  are 
right.” 

It  is  reported  upon  au- 
thority of  the  club  steward  that  seven  men  were  pain- 
fully injured  in  the  rush  which  ensued  to  place  an  order 
with  Clubton. 


HAMILTON 


A “RAH-RAH  AVIS.” 


OVERWHELMED. 

“ You  look  sore  about  something,  Hank.” 

“Sore  is  no  fit  term  for  it,  Bill.  Just  imagine  the  humiliation  of  one  seeing  part  of  himself  decorating  the  hat  of  a 
molasses-colored  cooness!” 


THE  CATCHES  OF  THE  SEASON. 

The  backwoods  photographer  gets  ready  for  the  demands  of  vacation  fishermen. 


An  Enterprising 
Agent. 

4 if  mjOW,  SIR,”  said  the 

X ’I  agent,  “ I am  sure 
I have  got  what 
you  want.  Now  here  is  a 
new  patent  paper  cutter,  sir, 
that  I am  selling  for  twen- 
ty-five cents.  It  is  the  best 
in  the  market,  never  tears 
the  pages  of  an  uncut 
book  ” 

“ Very  nice,  indeed,”  in- 
terrupted his  victim;  ‘‘but 
I have  no  uncut  books,  and 
so” 

‘‘I  suspected  that,  sir,” 
returned  the  agent.  “ That’s 
why  I have  brought  along 
this  beautiful,  uncut  copy 
of  Fox’s  ‘ Book  of  Martyrs.’ 

Three  hundred  pages  of  ele- 
vating reading,  embellished 
with  beautiful  pictures. 

Just  the  thing  for  a center- 
table  in  this  superb  bind- 
ing”— 

“ I haven’t  got  a center- 
table,”  said  the  victim;  “ so 
you  see  ” 

“ Fine!”  said  the  agent. 

“ Let  me  show  you  the  catalogue  of  our  company’s  fur- 
niture. It  is  all  of  the  very  best  make,  and  a center- 
table  like  that  in  the  picture  on  page  twenty-two  will 
prove  an  ornament  in  your  parlor  ” 


“ But  I haven’t  any  par- 
lor— I have  no  house,  my 

friend.  Consequently  ” 

“Glorious!”  cried  the 
agent.  “ I represent  the 
Own  Your  Own  Home  Com- 
pany of  ” 

“ Oh,  thunder!”  said  the 
victim.  “Here’s  your 
quarter.  I’ll  take  a paper 
cutter.” 

Invincible. 

<<^^OU  Yankees  are  eter- 
* nally  bragging  about 
your  possessions,”  said  the 
British  tourist,  as  the  trav- 
elers visited  Vesuvius;  “ but 
tell  me,  my  friend,  where 
in  all  the  splendors  of  your 
country  have  you  anything 
to  equal  this  volcano?” 

“ Out  in  Lincoln,  Neb.,” 
said  the  American.  - 

“Never  heard  of  it,” 
said  the  Englishman  con- 
temptuously. “What  do 
you  call  it?” 

“William  Jennings 
Bryan,”  said  the  American. 

Brevity. 

TRAVELING  salesman  was  thunderstruck  upon  be- 
ing presented  with  a telegram  which  ran: 

“ Twins  this  morning — more  later.  Sadie.” 


MUST  HAVE  STOLEN  IT. 

Judge — “ What’s  the  charge  against  the  prisoner  ?” 
Officer — “ Carrying  a concealed  weapon — I found  this 
hook  on  his  person.” 


UP  IN  MILLINERY. 

Calf  (startled  by  Wild-West  runaway.—" Oh,  ma!  pipe  the  cow  with  the  « Merry  Widow’  horns l" 


A Blossom  Fancy. 

BY  R.  K.  MUNKITTRICK. 

OH,  FILMY,  silken  blossom, 

Of  finest  wind-spun  gold, 

You  fill  my  dream  with  fancies 
That  can’t  be  sung  or  told. 

You  are  a meadow  fairy, 

Disporting  in  the  breeze, 

And  as  I watch  your  dainty 
And  frail  embroideries, 

I touch  my  harp  in  raptu^  ■>. 

And  sing  in  accents  gay, 

“ This  blossom  will  be  sweeter 
When  it  has  passed  away; 

“ Because  when  it,  a blossom, 

No  longer  nods  and  sighs, 

’Twill  be  the  gorgeous  pumpkin 
That  makes  the  pi  of  pies.” 

Equal  to  the  Occasion. 

Tourist — “ My  physician  advises  me 
to  locate  where  I may  have  the  benefit  of 
the  south  wind.  Does  it  blow  here?” 
Landlord  — “My!  but  you’re  for- 
tunate in  coming  to  just  the  right  place  ! 
Why,  the  south  wind  always  blows  here.” 
Tourist  — “Always?  Why,  it  seems 
to  be  blowing  from  the  north  now.” 
Landlord — “ Oh,  it  may  be  coming 
from  that  direction,  but  it’s  the  south 
wind.  It’s  just  coming  back,  you  know.” 


HIS  GEOGRAPHY  AT  FAULT. 


Visitor — “ Do  you  live  here,  little  girl  ?” 

No  ; this  is  my  aunty’s  house— I am  from  Frovidence.  ” 
Visitor—  “ Oh,  are  you?" 

She— “Oh,  no,  R.  I.” 


NO  DOUBT  ABOUT  IT. 


“Is  not  your  brother  a jolly  fellow ? So  full  of  spirits  ! He  kissed 
me  a moment  ago  under  water.” 

“ He  must  be  full  of  spirits  !” 


Her  Bag. 

BY  LURANA  W.  SHELDON. 

>^pWAS  just  a tiny  jeweled  thing 
* That  dangled  on  a chain ; 

A gewgaw  to  which  women  cling 
In  sunshine  and  in  rain. 

He  looked  upon  it  as  a toy, 

A plaything  for  the  hand — 

A bauble  easy  to  destroy, 

It  was  so  frailly  planned. 

Alas ! she  dropped  the  thing  one  day 
Upon  the  windy  street, 

And  he  was  paralyzed,  they  say, 

At  what  fell  at  his  feet. 

The  clasp  had  opened ; on  his  knees 
He  clutched  a gross  or  more 
Of  everything  one  ever  sees 
Within  a dry-goods  store. 

A Slight  Misunderstanding, 

CCT'VO  YOU  take  any  periodicals?” 
asked  the  new  clergyman  on  his 
first  round  of  parish  visits. 

“Well,  I don’t,”  replied  the  woman; 
“ but  my  husband  takes  ’em  frequent.  I 
do  wish  you’d  try  to  get  him  to  sign  the 
pledge.” 

Philos  (sagely  shaking  his  head)  — 
“ There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun.” 

Justwed  (with  timid  reluctance)  — 
“ Have  you  seen  my  baby?” 


The  Howl  of  the  Hack. 

BY  HAMILTON  POPE  GALT. 

THE  EDITOR  has  scissors  long, 

A glue  pot,  large  and  full  of  strong 
Adhesive  glue. 

Placed  handy,  too. 

Of  what  he  prints  he  clippeth  half; 

The  rest  is  written  by  the  staff. 

The  editor  will  seldom  fail 
Rejection  slips  to  send  by  mail; 

And  often  ships 
Acceptance  slips 

By  freight;  while,  painfully  and  slow, 
His  checks  around  Cape  Horn  must  go. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  A COW’S  TAIL. 

One  little  goose  (to  the  other) — Naow,  haow  do  you  suppose 
thet  dumed  caow  crawled  through  thet  thar  knot-hole?” 


WHERE  HE  AIMED. 

City  sportsman — “ That  may  be  some  other  hunter  I am 
aiming  at,  and  not  a deer  at  all.  It  is  very  dangerous  for  him  to 
move  so  quietly.” 

Indian  guide — “Huh  ! Him  safest  of  all.” 

A Cruel  Inquiry. 

<4  ¥’M  SUAH, ” said  Chollie  Softleigh  with  a drawling 
* lisp,  “ that  I don’t  know  what  I shall  do  when  I 
get  out  of  college.  Mothah  wants  me  to  be  a minithtah, 
but  I have  a leaning  toward  litratchah.V 

“Did  you  ever  think  of  becoming  an  actress?”  she 
asked  cruelly. 

Horse-power. 

44  ¥¥0W  MANY  horse-power  is  your  machine?” 

**  “It’s -too  heavy  for  one  horse,  so  I generally 
use  two.” 


NO  DANGER. 

“Ah  know  fo’  positive  fac’  dey  is  paris  green  on  dat  melon.” 
“We  don’t  e*t  de  green  : we  eat  de  red.” 


A Musical  Education  in  a Nutshell 


By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 


THERE  was,  some  years  ago,  a writer  upon  musical 
topics  in  a German  periodical  who  gave  a cleverly 
comprehensive  method  by  which  the  musically  un- 
educated should  be  able  to  detect  Whether  or  not  the  com- 
position to  which  they  were  listening  should  rank  as  a 
masterpiece.  “ If  the  music  goes  1-2-3-hop-hop-hop,  or 
1-2-3-boom-boom-boom,  ” said  he,  “ you  may  depend  upon 
it  that  you  are  listening  to  unmitigated  rubbish.  But 
when  you  hear  music  that  sounds  as  if  a number  of  well- 
arranged  notes 
were  stuck  into  a 
barrel  and  energet- 
ically stirred  about 
like  a sort  of  har- 
monious oatmeal 
porridge,  then  you 
may  assume  that  it 
is  a fugue,  and  at 
once  compose  your 
features  into  an 
expression  of  pro- 
found satisfaction. 

If,  later  on,  you 
fancy  that  the 
notes  are  dropped 
on  the  floor,  and 
from  time  to  time 
asserting  them- 
selves again  in  a 
quiet,  dreamy  sort 
of  way,  then  the 
piece  is  probably  a 
nocturne ; and  noc- 
turnes, as  you  are 


HIS  WEDDED 
“Never  will  I marry — I am  wed- 
ded to  my  art.  Art  is  my  wife,”  he 
told  his  friends. 


probably  aware,  are  very  high-class  music  indeed. 
When  the  notes  seem  to  arrive  in  truck-loads,  and  each 
truck  contains  a different  sort  from  the  one  that  has 
preceded  it,  and  when  the  series  of  vans  appears  to  take 
an  unreasonable  length  of  time  to  pass  a given  point, 
then  the  masterpiece  is  doubtless  a symphony,  and  the 
symphony  is  the  greatest  musical  creation  yet  produced 
by  the  masters  of  music.  Finally,  when  it  seems  as  if 
the  notes  had  been  tumbled  down  helter-skelter,  then 

vigorously  shoveled 
up  into  a heap,  and 
blown  into  the  air 
with  a dynamite 
cartridge,  that  is  a 
rhapsody;  and  the 
rhapsody  is,  on  the 
whole,  the  most 
popular  variety  of 
good  music  ex- 
tant.” The  writer 
of  the  above  doubt- 
less lived  too  soon 
to  continue  and  add 
to  his  formulae  the 
further  assertion 
that  if  the  notes 
bring  to  you  that 
feeling  of  lassitude 
which  conjures  up 
visions  of  cold 
broiled  lobsters  and 
the  odor  of  gasoline 
and  talcum  powder 
in  equal  propor- 


WIFE. 

And  his  art  mastered  him. 


STRANGE  SIGHTS  OF  THE  CITY. 

Farmer  bird—1  Gosh  all  hemlock  ! thet’s  the  spryest  squirrel  I ever  saw.” 


IT  WAS  A 1905  MODEL. 

Driver—  “ What’s  the  matter  ?” 

Constable — “ You  are  under  arrest  for  cruelty  to  automobiles.  You  have  no  right  to  overload  a poor  old  machine  like  that. 


YOU’RE  NEXT. 

Kid — “ Say,  mister,  ain’t  it  about  time  yer  t’rowed  away  dat  butt  ?” 
Leisure  Lawson — “Sorry,  me  boy — very,  very  sorry,  I assure  you  s but 
I just  picked  it  up  myself,  don’t-chew-know  ?” 


tions,  you  will  instantly  recognize  it  as 
the  composition  of  that  famous  and  pop- 
ular composer,  Herr  Broadway,  of  New 
York. 

The  Snake  (— '^^)  Curve  Ball. 

BY  EDWIN  L.  SABIN. 

IN  THE  golden  days  of  summer, 

When  with  Skinny,  Red,  and  Fat 
On  the  pasture-lot  of  Homeville 
You  indulged  in  two  old-cat, 

You  remember — aye — the  presence 
Of  that  wizard  'mongst  you  all, 

Who  possessed  the  magic  secret 

Of  the  snake  (w^w)  curve  ball ! 

’Tis  the  mastery  of  all  things 
Given  boyhood,  nothing  less, 

That  enables  him  to  sock  ’em 
Wriggling  like  the  letter  S; 

While  the  eager  batter  flushes, 

’Wildered  by  the  mocking  call, 

“ Aw,  I fooled  you!  Aw,  I fooled  you! 
That’s  a snake  curve  ball!” 

See  those  fearsome,  long  contortions ! 

Hear  the  quick,  triumphant  shout, 

Which  apprises  all  newcomers, 

“ I can  throw  an  in-an’-out!” 

Tens  of  thousands,  why  your  homage? 

Clarkson  or  Waddell  are  small 
When  compared  to  freckled  urchin 

With  his  snake  (w^w)  curve  ball ! 

You,  no  doubt,  were  that  brave  pitcher— 

(“  Watch  me  make  it  do  it!”  “ Gee!”) 
Spiting  scoffers,  baffling  science. 

(“Can,  too — can’t  I,  Fat?  Now,  see!”) 
“Papa,”  “captain,”  “judge,”  “profess- 
or”— 

Oft  may  honor’s  mantle  fall, 

But  there’s  none  like  to  the  mantle 
Of  the  snake  ) curve  ball! 


IT  ALL  DEPENDS. 


Adrian  Absyntheface — “ Maud,  I want  you  to  put  this  un- 
der your  pillow  to-night  and  dream  of  me.  Will  you  ?” 

Maud — “ Well,  that  depends  upon  what  I eat  before  going 
to  bed.” 

Come  Home,  Father. 

BY  M.  WORTH  COLWELL. 

it  IjYATHER,  dear  father,  come  home  with  me  now, 

* The  clock  on  the  dashboard  strikes  one! 

Don’t  fuss  with  the  car  any  longer,  pupah, 

You  can’t  get  the  old  tub  to  run ! 

The  cylinder’s  cracked  and  the  timer  won’t  work, 

And  mother’s  been  waiting  since  tea, 

So  tether  the  car  to  a post,  father  dear, 

And  come  home  on  the  trolley  with  me! 

Come  home,  come  home  ” — etc. 

“ Father,  dear  father,  come  home  with  me  now, 

The  speed-meter  clock’s  striking  two! 

The  night  has  grown  colder,  the  rear  tire’s  flat, 

And  mamma  may  fret  about  you. 

The  cam-shaft  is  twisted,  the  pump’s  out  of  gear; 

Perhaps  before  morning  shall  dawn, 

Ma  may  grow  real  angry  and  want  a divorce — 

Come  quickly,  or  she  may  be  gone! 

Come  home,  come  home  ” — etc. 

“ Father,  dear  father,  fly  home  with  me  now, 

The  clock’s  striking  three— it’s  struck  out! 

Don’t  fool  any  more  with  magneto  and  coil; 

The  wires  have  grounded,  no  doubt!” 

The  child’s  plea  was  answered — the  answer  was  short, 
Which  the  night  winds  repeat  as  they  roam; 

The  gas-tank  exploded — some  noise  and  some  smoke, 

And  father  and  daughter  blew  home ! 

“ We’re  home,  we’re  home!” — etc. 

Down  to  Brass  Tacks. 

«<  IJ^VER  stopped  to  think  where  you  will  go  this 
summer?”  asks  the  friend. 

“Well,”  answers  the  other,  “we  think  we  will  go 
to  southern  Europe  for  a while,  then  run  over  into 
Switzerland  and  Germany,  then  go  on  through  Russia 
and  Siberia,  and  come  back  by  way  of  Japan,  the  Philip- 
pines, and  Hawaii.” 

“ My ! That’s  a splendid  tour !” 

“ Ye«,  we  think  we’ll  take  it;  but  we  know  blamed 
well  we’ll  go  to  Atlantic  City  maybe  twice  during 
the  summer.” 


THEY  DISAGREE  ON  DETAILS 
“ I am  afraid  of  Mr.  “ Littleman  is  afraid  of  me,” 
Big,”  says  Mr.  Little-  says  Big,  “because  he  does  know 
man,  “ because  I don’t  what  I’ll  do.” 
know  what- he’ll  do.” 


NEEDED  RENOVATION. 


New  pastor — “Perhaps  you  don’t  know,  my  boy,  that  I am 
your  new  pastor  ?” 

Kid — “ Maybe  I don’t,  but  I tell  you  now,  that  old  meetin11 
house  of  ours  certainly  needed  pastorizin’.” 


HE  SPOKE  HASTILY. 

“ Allow  me  to  take  you  down  to  eat,  Mrs.  Scrambledegg- 
face.” 

“ Oh,  thank  you  ! It’s  so  good  of  ’’ 

“ Not  at  all.  Your  husband  has  made  lots  of  little  sacri- 
fices for  me.” 

The  Threat. 

^pHE  Bingses,  mother  and  daughter,  had  long  out- 
* stayed  their  visit  at  their  country  friend’s  house. 
Moreover,  they  evinced  no  sign  of  going  away,  nor  did 
the  mother  seem  to  be  in  any  way  affected  by  the  strong 
hints  to  go  which  the  overtaxed  hostess  threw  out  from 
time  to  time.  Finally,  forbearance  exhausted,  the  en- 
tertainer decided  to  reach  the  mother  through  her  daugh- 
ter. So  one  day,  calling  the  little  visitor  to  her,  she 
said,  “ Maimie,  when  do  you  expect  to  go  home?” 

“ Oh,  I’m  sure  I don’t  know,”  was  the  careless  reply. 
“ We’ve  several  other  places  to  stop  at  yet.” 

“ Well,  when  do  you  go  on  to  the  next  place?” 

“ Can’t  even  tell  that.  Mamma  says  it’s  immaterial  to 
her  just  when  she’ll  leave  here.” 

“But,  my  dear  child,”  exclaimed  the  exasperated 
hostess,  “ doesn’t  your  mother  realize  how  high  living 
is  these  days?” 

“tOh,  yes;  she  knows  how  high  it  is.  That’s  why  we 
left  the  city.” 

“Well,  Maimie,  I cannot  afford  to  entertain  visitors 
any  longer,  and  I wish  you’d  tell  your  mother  that  at 
once !” 

“ Is  that  an  insult?”  rejoined  the  child,  turning 
haughtily  to  the  speaker. 

“ Why  do  you  ask  that,  child?” 

“ Because  when  we’re  insulted  we  go  on  to  the  next 
place!” 

Judgment. 

BY  CARLYLE  SMITH. 

NO  CRITIC  of  my  neighbor  let  me  be, 

No  flaws  in  him,  I pray  thee,  let  me  find; 

Or  if,  perchance,  some  blemish  there  I see, 

To  it  and  him  may  I be  ever  kind. 

But  of  myself,  as  Father  Time  rolls  by, 

Let  me  be  critical  of  my  own  ways, 

And  so  reform  my  erring  self  that  I 
Won’t  care  a rap  what  anybody  says. 


The  Poet  Sings. 

BY  B.  J.  DASKAM. 

ONE  DIFFERENCE  only,  Chloe  proud, 
Between  your  love  and  mine — - 
While  you’ve  forgotten  all  you  vowed, 

I get  six  cents  a line. 

And,  Daphne,  though  your  melting  glance 
Was  bought  with  violets, 

Don’t  think  that  I’d  neglect  a chance 
For  lightsome  triolets. 

Oh,  Phyllis,  oft  you’ve  strained  my  purse 
On  loving  pleasure  bent; 

But,  now  we’re  through,  it  might  be  worse — 
You’ve  helped  to  pay  the  rent. 

l’envoi. 

Ye  poets,  when  your  lady’s  kiss 
Grows  cold,  pray  don’t  repine, 

But  scribble  off  some  stuff  like  this 
And  get  six  cents  a line. 

A Work  of  Supererogation. 

pXENRY  dislikes  being  bathed  and  argues  with  his 
**  mother  over  every  square  inch  of  his  four-year-old 
anatomy. 

One  night,  when  his  patience  was  especially  tried  by 
what  he  considered  wholly  unnecessary  work,  he  ex- 
claimed, 

“ Oh,  mamma,  couldn’t  you  skip  my  stomach?  No- 
body ever  sees  my  stomach!” 


Additional  Comforts. 

it  J SEE  your  rates  here  are  double  on  rainy  days,” 


said  the  drummer.  “ What  is  the  reason  for 

that?” 

“ Sir,”  replied  Landlord  Sparerib,  “ a eareful  exam- 
ination of  this  hostelry  will  convince  you  that  all  our 
rooms  are  furnished  with  baths  at  that  time.” 


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.“THE  VOICE  OF  THE  BLACK  HAND.” 


STRIKING  THE  HOT  IRON. 

^J'HE  FOLLOWING  is  the  conversation  carried  on 
between  a blacksmith  and  his  helper;  both,  as  it 
happened,  stuttered. 

Blacksmith’s  helper — “ Sh-sh-shall  I h-h-hit  n-n-n- 
now?” 

Blacksmith  (who  is  holding  a piece  of  heated  iron  on 
the  anvil  for  the  helper  to  hit) — “ Y-y-y-yes,  h-hit  it 
n-n-now.” 

Blacksmith’s  helper — “ Sh-sh-shall  I h-h-hit  it  h-h- 
har-hard?” 

Blacksmith — “ Y-y-yes;  h-h-h-hit  it  h-hard.” 

Blacksmith’s  helper — “ Sh-sh-shall  I-I  h-h-hit  it 
h-hard  n-now?” 

Blacksmith — “ N-n-no;  i-it’s  c-c-cold  n-now.” 

Stanley  E.  Williams,  Seattle,  Wash. 


CERTAIN. 

<<  IJOW  TIRESOME  you  are,”  said  the  wife  of  his 
**  bosom.  “ I can  never  get  a straightforward 
answer.  Can’t  you  be  certain  about  anything?” 

“ Wise  men  hesitate,”  he  replied  loftily;  “only  fools 
are  certain.” 

“ Are  you  sure  of  that?” 

“ I’m  quite  certain  of  it.” 

“ Oh!”  was  all  she  said. 

Seale  B.  Johnson,  Jackson,  Tenn. 

AN  EMBARRASSING  POSITION. 

A PRETTY  young  kindergarten  teacher  got  on  a 
" * crowded  car  and,  seating  herself,  nodded  and 
smiled  at  a handsome  gentleman  opposite  her,  and  upon 
discovering  the  fact  that  she  had  mistaken  him  for  an- 
other, said  in  a sweet  voice, 


H£mgI£'V 


DISAPPOINTED. 

She — “ I was  crazy  when  I married  you.” 

He — ■“  You  were — but  we  all  entertained  hopes  of  your  recovery. 


A JOLT  FOR  CUPID. 

“Have  you  heard  the  news,  Charlie?  It’s 
perfectly  dreadful!” 

“ Why  no,  sweetheart.  What  is  it?” 
“Some  horrid  person  is  going  to  build  an 
apartment  house  between  us.  Boo-hoo  !” 

“ Oh,  I beg  your  pardon.  I thought  you 
were  the  father  of  two  of  my  children.” 

The  horrid  crowd  giggled. 

She  got  off  at  the  next  corner. 

Mrs.  James  W.  Gault,  Eaton,  Col. 

WHAT  HE  WAS  WAITING  FOR. 

A MAN  who  was  so  full  that  he  couldn’t 
* * even  stand  on  his  feet  was  standing 
about  midnight  clutching  a lamp-post,  when 
a policeman  accosted  him,  “ Here,  my  man, 
why  don’t  you  sober  up  and  go  home?” 

“ In  fact,”  answered  the  drunk,  “that’s 
just  what  I am  after  doing.  You  see,  the 
whole  street  is  turning  round  and  round  this 
lamp-post,  and,  when  my  own  house  reaches 
here,  I will  just  step  in  the  doorway.” 

Ben  J.  Strauch,  Memphis,  Tenn. 


CIRCUMSTANCES  ALTER  CASES. 


Mother — “ Hear  him  ! He  says  ‘mamma.’”  Mothet — “He  wants  you!  There,  there!  he  says  he 

Father — “ Oh,  no  ! He  says  he  wants  to  come  wants  papa.’’ 
to  papa.’’  Father — “ Confound  it ! can’t  you  hear  him  saying  he 

wants  mamma.’’ 


Gray’s  Elegy. 

“Full  many  a gem  of  purest  ray  serene.” 
BY  WILLIS  LEONARD  CLANAHAN. 


Full  many  a gem  of  purest  ray 
Is  born  to  blush  unseen ; 

Full  many  a flower  that  smiles  to-day. 
Full  many  a leaf  that’s  green, 

Will  never  make  the  dreamer  pause, 
Nor  his  fond  gaze  entrance, 

Because — why,  can’t  you  see? — because 
It  never  had  no  chance. 


Full  many  a brave  Demosthenes, 

Full  many  a Cromwell  bold, 

Full  many  a Milton — more  the  cheese 
Than  e’er  was  John  of  old — 

Are  sitting  round  the  country  store, 
A-wearing  out  their  pants, 
Because — as  hinted  heretofore — 

They  never  had  no  chance. 


DID  SHE  MEAN  INTO  A FAMILY  TREE  ? 


Count — “ Come  with  me  to  my  ancestral  home  1” 
Clara — “ Impossible,  count  1 . I cannot  climb  !” 


Reflections  of  Uncle  Ezra 

By  ROY  K.  MOULTON. 


CERTAINLY  it  is  gettin’  so  nowadays  you  can’t  tell 
from  a feller’s  clothes  and  hair-cut  whether  he 
is  a rube  or  a genius. 

Many  women  are  not  as  bad  as  they  are  painted. 
When  I see  a widder  wearin’  crape  twenty-five  or 
thutty  years,  I always  think  that  her  husband  must  have 
died  before  she  got  very  well  acquainted  with  him. 

If  Roosevelt  gets  too  strong  with  his  nature-fakin’ 
charges,  he  will  git  to  be  disliked  in  my  town  for  bein’ 
too  pussonal.  Those  of  us  who  ain’t  got  false  teeth 
have  got  glass  eyes,  cork  legs,  artificial  hair,  cold-cream 
complexions,  or  dyed  whiskers. , 

Hod  Peters,  of  our  town,  is  so  stingy  he  makes  his 
wife  write  all  her  letters  in  shorthand,  so  as  to  save  ink. 

It  may  be  all  right  to  belong  to  the  Four  Hundred, 
but,  by  gravy ! I’d  hate  to  have  any  of  the  Four  Hundred 
belong  to  me. 

They  say  accidents  will  happen  in  the  best  of  fami- 
lies, and,  accordin’  to  reports  from  Pittsburgh,  most  of 
them  do. 

I never  see  a married  woman  who  didn’t  cry  at  a 


weddin’  and  wish  the  couple  much  joy  while  she  was 
wipin’  her  nose. 

Don’t  make  fun  of  an  old  maid.  A woman  who  is  an 
old  maid  at  thutty  may  be  a dashing  young  widder  at 
thutty-five  with  a life-insurance  roll. 

Job  may  have  had  boils,  but,  by  jing!  he  never 
grabbed  his  wife’s  hot  curlin’-iron  in  a dark  bedroom 
and  put  it  in  his  mouth  by  mistake  for  a cigar. 

The  government  laws  on  substitution  may  be  pretty 
strict,  but  they  can’t  prevent  us  from  usin’  a good  old 
buckwheat  pancake  for  a porous  plaster. 

Anybody  can  write  for  a magazine,  but  it  won’t  be 
sent  unless  the  subscription  is  paid  in  advance. 

Education  is  a great  thing.  A school  teacher  who  is 
extra  efficient  can  get  thutty-five  dollars  a month.  A 
plumber  gets  five  dollars  a day. 

Hi  Huggins  says  he  can’t  afford  an  automobile  to 
take  his  gal  out  ridin’  in,  but  as  long  as  the  old  gray 
mare  lives  he  has  got  a good  spark-plug,  anyhow. 

I know  a feller  who  is  usin’  four  hoop  snakes  for  rub- 
ber tires  on  his  buggy,  and  I ain’t  any  nature  faker  either. 


WATCHING  IT  WARILY. 


Bonesy  Bates — “Well,  how’s  things  ?” 

Languid  Leary — “ Pretty  good  ; I got  me  eye  on  a job.” 

Bonesy  Bates — “ Aw  ! wot’s  eatin’  youse  ?” 

Languid  Leary — “ Nuttin’;  youse’d  keep  yer  eye  on  a bull  if  youse  wuz  in  a field  with  one,  wouldn’t  yer?’’ 


Notes  from  the  Basswood  Bugle 

* By  ROY  K.  MOULTON 


HANK  TUMMS  has  broke  the  record.  Now  he 
can’t  have  any  more  music  on  his  phonograph. 

Miss  Pansy  Tibbits,  who  has  been  away  to 
cookin’  school,  made  a fine  hickory -nut  cake 
last  week.  Old  Bill  Tibbits  ate  seven  pieces  and  has 
been  laid  up  with  the  indyspepsia.  Come  to  find  out, 
Pansy  forgot  to"  crack  the  hickory  nuts  before  puttin’ 
them  in  the  cake. 

The  county-fair  folks  are  advertisin’  a race  for  green 
trotters.  Who  ever  see  a green  horse?  Nobody  but 
some  nature  faker,  perhaps. 

The  only  trouble  with  huckleberry  pie  is  that  it  gits 
all  over  a feller’s  ears  too  much. 

Old  Cap  Whipple  has  only  got  one  tooth,  and  when  he 
gits  through  eatin’  an  ear  of  green  corn  it  looks  like  a 
corkscrew.  The  cob,  not  the  tooth. 

There  is  two  grades  of  society  in  this  country,  pianola 
and  phonograph. 

It  is  more  pleasanter  to  have  a photograph  taken 


TWO  VERSIONS. 

* fVj-  .®cendy  affianced) — “Philip  says  he  will  love  me 
When  I’m  old  ” 

Either — “When  you  mould!  Don’t  believe  him,  Sis. 
Men  liitt  girls  when  they  are  young  and  fresh.” 


than  to  have  a tooth  pulled,  but  it  seldom  appears  so  on 
the  photograph. 

The  only  time  Cal  Stebbins’s  face  gits  thoroughly 
washed  is  when  he  eats  a piece  of  watermelon. 

Hotel  soap  always  seems  like  a piece  broke  off  from 
a soapstun  griddle  or  footwarmer,  judgin’  by  the  ab- 
sence of  suds  it  makes. 

The  Bugle  office  has  had  a half-column  of  obituary  and 
two  columns  of  Ladies’  Aid  Society  resolutions  set  up 
for  Grandma  Jenks  for  nine  years,  but  as  Doc  Hanks 
says  she  is  now  out  of  danger  we  will  sell  the  same 
mighty  cheap  to  some  other  person,  who  is  expectin’  to 
die,  by  the  name  of  Jenks. 

This  was  quite  a busy  week  in  our  town.  A medicine 
lecturer  on  the  street  Monday  evenin’,  a dog  fight  Wed- 
nesday afternoon,  an  organ  grinder  Thursday  mornin’, 
and  the  usual  mid-week  prayer  meetin’  Thursday  evenin’. 

Nothin’  stands  out  more  prominenter  than  a wart  on 
a feller’s  nose  unless  it  is  a foreign  hotel  label  on  a new 
dollar-ninety-eight  suit  case. 

Miss  Euphemia  Mudge,  our  poetess  of  passion,  has 
resigned  as  poet-laureate  for  the  tombstun  works  and 
expects  to  accept  a lucrative  position  on  some  New  York 
magazine  soon,  if  she  can  get  it,  which  is  rather  skep- 
tical at  this  writin’. 

Hank  Tumms  is  such  a strong  union  man  that  he 
won’t  patronize  any  railrud  that  don’t  run  into  a union 
depot. 

Last  time  Grandma  Perkins  went  to  New  York  she 
says  to  the  conductor,  says  she,  “ Does  this  train  stop 
at  New  York?”  The  conductor  says,  says  he,  “ By 
ginger,  I hope  so,  because  if  it  don’t  there  will  be  about 
the  goldingest  smash-up  that  you  most  ever  see!” 

Elmer  Spink  says  them  New  York  fellers  that  come 
out  here  summer  resortin’  ain’t  so  blame  stylish  after 
all.  He  ain’t  seen  one  of  them  yet  with  a celloid  collar 
on,  and  the  fellers  around  here  have  been  wearin’  them 
for  a year  or  two.  Elmer  has  had  his  pretty  near  three 
years  and  it  is  just  as  good  as  new,  if  not  better,  as  it 
now  fits  his  throat  better  than  former. 

Them  foreign  noblemen  must  be  a tough  lot.  We  see 
that  an  indictment  has  been  issued  down  to  New  York 
that  has  got  twenty  counts  in  it. 

The  Basswood  Corners  Silver  Cornet  Band  gave  a con- 
cert on  Main  Street  last  Thursday  evenin’  free  gratis  for 
nothin’,  but  nobody  heard  it,  as  everybody  was  down  to 
the  railrud  depot  to  see  the  eight-fifteen  come  in,  and 
she  was  an  hour  late. 

Hod  Peters  fell  down-stairs  last  Wednesday  and  broke 
three  ribs  and  seven  commandments. 

A drummer  from  New  York  was  in  our  midst  the 
other  day,  sellin’  goods.  We  haven’t  heard  whether  he 
is  a bass  or  snare  drummer.  Miss  Amy  Stubbs,  our  mil- 
liner, says  every  drummer  is  a delusion  and  a snare. 

Grandpa  Bibbins  went  to  church  in  the  rain  last  Sun- 
day, and  is  now  at  home,  sufferin’  from  inflammatory 
religion. 


HIS  DESERTS. 

Pausing  at  Alcove  G,  in  the  lower  corridor  of 
Hades,  we  observed  a young  man  dancing  a jig  on 
a red-hot  radiator. 

“And  who  is  that?”  we  inquired 

“ Why,  that  is  a street-car  conductor  who 
used  to  tell  people  to  ‘ step  lively,’  ” responded 
the  guide. 

Mrs.  Hi  Huggins  has  taken  in  washin’  by  the  day  or 
week  so  long  that  Hi  has  been  able  to  save  up  enough 
soap  wrappers  to  get  a good,  double-jointed,  bamboo 
fishin’  rod. 

Last  week  we  inserted  an  adv.  in  our  lost-and-found 
column,  to  the  effect  that  the  galoot  who  stole  an  um- 
breller  at  the  meetin ’-house  lecture  the  night  before  had 
better  bring  it  to  the  Bugle  office  or  be  prosecuted. 
Fifteen  cords  of  umbrellers  have  been  throwed  into  our 
backyard  since  that  time,  and  they  are  still  cornin’. 

Hank  Tumms  is  gettin’  to  be  quite  a successful 
author.  He  has  had  two  recommendations  for  Curemall 
and  three  for  Binks’s  Tonic  accepted  within  a month. 
Hank  says  the  road  to  literary  fame  is  some  arduous, 
but  he  expects  to  remain  on  top  as  long  as  folks  continue 
to  make  patent  medicine. 

Elmer  Spink  is  gettin’  quite  well  acquainted  down  to 
New  York.  He  can  call  three  bartenders  by  their  first 
name.  He  asked  a policeman  where  the  Battery  was  the 
other  day,  and  the  policeman  told  him  it  was  out  to  the 
ball  ground. 

The  Saucy  Seesaw. 

A GIRL  bade  her  escort  named  Chaucer 
To  tilt  on  a teeter  and  toss  her. 

Said  she,  with  a thud, 

As  she  fell  in  the  mud, 

‘‘Such  a aaucy  seesaw  I ne’er  saw,  sir!” 


To  the  Belle  of  Monday. 

BY  ALICE  E.  ALLEN. 

WRING  out,  wild  Belle,  with  swish  and  swash,, 
With  cloud  of  steam  and  rub-a-dubs, 

With  squeak  of  wringer,  creak  of  tubs — 

Wring  out,  wild  Belle,  the  weekly  wash. 

Wring  out  the  old,  wring  out  the  new ; 

Wring  lightly,  Belle,  and  have  a care — • 

That  sheet  is  tearing.  Let  it  tear; 

’Tis  thus  we  tell  the  false  from  true. 

Wring  out  that  shirt-waist  home-designed; 

It  ne’er  shall  vex  my  spirit  more. 

I’ll  send  it  to  the  heathen  poor 
To  help  re-dress  some  womankind. 

Wring  out  that  slowly  fading  frock 

Of  ancient  form  and  last  year’s  sleeves; 

That  shirt  quite  a la  mode  of  Steve’s, 

And  Maud’s  newfangled  fancy  stock. 

Wring  out  odd  shapes  of  every  size — 

The  ever-narrowing  under  vest, 

The  worn-out  socks,  and  all  the  rest — 

Wring  out,  wild  Belle,  to  the  wild  skies! 

ALL  TALK  is  not  cheap.  For  instance,  back  talk  to 
* * a magistrate  has  not  infrequently  cost  a man  fifty 
dollars  as  an  alternative  to  going  to  jail.  And  then 
there  is  Bryan. 


A JUVENILE  SUGGESTION. 
“Grandfather,”  began  Jimmy,  as  he  gazed  thoughtfully  at 
the  aged  man’s  shining  head,  “ why  don’t  you  tell  yourself  a 
hair-raising  story  ?” 


A DIAMOND  PLOT 
Possible  purchaser — “ But  what  makes  these  lots  so  high-priced  ?” 

Isaacs — “ Veil,  mine  friendt,  they  vas  all  diamond-shape,  und  much  more  attracdive  und  oxpensive. 


LOVE  AND  GHOSTS 

By  MARION  FOSTER  WASHBURNE 


THEY  had  been  dipping  amateurishly  into  the 
mysteries  of  the  hidden  forces.  They  had  tried 
lifting  one  of  their  number— the  heaviest — by 
the  tips  of  their  fingers,  all  breathing  together. 
The  experiment  had  failed,  because  never  could  five  of 
them  manage  to  take  three  long  breaths  in  unison  with- 
out laughter.  Next  they  had  tried  mind-reading. 

“ Wasn’t  it  wonderful,  Harold?”  Marcia  asked. 
“ Why,  when  you  held  my  hand  I seemed  to  know  exactly 
where  to  go.  I wasn’t  afraid.  I went  down  those  dark 
cellar  stairs  and  up  to  that  ash-heap  and  found  that 
hidden  ring  as  easy  as  could  be.  What  do  you  suppose 
did  it?” 

“I  don’t  know,”  Harold  answered.  “It  seemed  to 
me  that  something  strange  went  from  my  hand  to  yours.  ’ ’ 
“ Do  you  think  any  one  else  could  have  led  me  in  the 
same  way?”  Marcia  asked. 

“ No,  I don’t,”  said  Harold  shortly.  “ I think  there 
has  to  be  some  sort  of  a sympathy  between  the  person 


whose  mind  is  read  and  the  one  who  is  doing  the  reading. 
Don’t  you  ?” 

“ Perhaps,”  she  said. 

Above  them  on  the  stairs  others  were  wondering  over 
the  same  occurrence.  Every  one  had  a ghost  story  to 
tell.  To  no  one  had  been  denied  the  touch  of  some  ex- 
perience out  of  the  common. 

“ Goodness !”  cried  Marcia,  rising  with  a little  shiver, 
“ I shall  be  afraid  to  go  home.  It  must  be  almost  midr 
night  now.” 

Harold  and  Marcia  were  glad  to  get  away  and  be 
alone  together  for  the  walk  home.  It  was  not  easy  to 
talk  while  their  hearts  were  beating  so  loud. 

Marcia  broke  the  silence.  “ Aren’t  you  almost  afraid 
to  pass  that  queer  old  house  to-night?” 

“ What  house?” 

“ Why,  the  Haunted  House.  Harold,  let’s  go  round 
the  other  way.  It’ll  be  just  about  midnight  when  we 
get  there.” 


“DAT  AM  YO’  BRIDAL  VEIL,  HONEY.” 


“Nonsense! 

You  don’t  suppose 
I’m  afraid  of  an 
old  house ! What’s 
there  to  it,  any- 
how? Just  a little 
forlorn  house 
standing  alone  in 
a big  yard.” 

“ Wouldn’t  you 
think  that  old 
woman  would  be 
afraid  to  live 
there  alone?  They 
say  that  once  her 
husband  lived 
there  with  her  and 
they  had  several 
children;  but  one 
by  one  they  died. 

All  the  funerals 
went  out  from  that  front  door  and  down  the  street- 
They  say  she  will  live  there  until  her  own  funeral  car- 
ries her  away  from  that  same  front  door.  Oh,  I hope 
that  will  never  happen  to  me,  Harold!” 

“ It  won’t.  I’m  not  going  to  die  first.” 

Marcia  gasped.  Never  had  he  spoken  so  openly  be- 
fore. For  a wonder,  she  could  find  no  words  with  which 
to  rebuke  him. 

They  drew  nearer  to  the  Haunted  House.  The  moon, 
driving  through  the  mist,  lit  these  rising  white  forms 
now  and  then.  The  house,  a brown,  battered  cottage, 
was  surrounded  by  an  overgrown,  unkempt  garden. 
Marcia  caught  Harold’s  arm  in  a tighter  grip. 

“Look,  look!’  she  whispered  fearfully.  Harold 
turned  his  reluctant  eyes  away  from  her  enticing  face 
and  looked  across  the  street.  What  he  saw  there 
stopped  him  where  he  stood.  There  was,  indeed,  some- 
thing white  moving  in  and  out  among  the  shadowy  trees. 
“ It’s  a ghost,  Harold ! It  really  is !” 

“No,  it  isn’t!  Of  course  it  isn’t!” 

“I  dare  you  to  go  and  see.”  The  intoxication  of 
that  calm  assumption  of  his  of  a few  minutes  ago  was 
rising  to  Marcia’s  brain.  She  felt  she  must  say  or  do 


something  — she 
didn’t  care  just 
what.  Ghosts 
were  nothing  com- 
pared with  the 
thought  that  Har- 
old was  actually 
planning  a life  for 
them  together. 

“Pooh!  I’d 
just  as  leave  go 
as  not.  But  what’s 
the  sense  in  it? 
I’d  rather  stay 
here.” 

“ I dare  you ! I 
dare  you!  Oh, 
see,  Harold ! It’s 
truly  there  ! ” 
Harold  covered 
the  clutching  hand 
on  his  arm  with  his  other  hand,  and  they  both  faced 
about  to  look  more  searchingly  into  the  depths  of  the 
old  garden.  This  time  they  not  only  saw  the  crouch- 
ing, moving,  white  figure,  but  a wavering  cry  came  to 
their  ears. 

“ Oh,  do  go!  It  seems  to  be  in  trouble.  Go  and  see 
what’s  the  matter.” 

Now,  Harold  had  no  relish  for  this  job.  Another 
look  into  the  mysterious  garden  made  him  hesitate 
again.  Something  was  moving  about  there.  Again 
the  wavering,  faint  cry  came  to  his  ears. 

Marcia  gave  him  a little  excited  push.  “Oh,  go!” 
she  urged.  “You  aren’t  afraid!”  Harold  turned  to 
her  indignantly. 

“I’ll  go  because  you  want  me  to.  But,  if  I go, 
you’ve  got  to  give  me  my  reward  when  I come  back.” 

“ And  what’s  that?”  Marcia  looked  down.  Harold 
bent  nearer. 

“ A kiss !”  he  said,  and  then  dashed  across  the  street, 
fairly  afraid  of  his  own  boldness.. 

He  moved  over  the  wet  grass  silently.  Plainer  and 
plainer  he  saw  before  him  that  white  thing.  It  was, 
without  doubt,  the  form  of  a woman.  As  he  drew 


OUGHT  TO  BE  DUG  OUT. 

Blank — “They  say  there’s  a lot  of  money  in  farming,  nowadays.’’ 

Blink — “Ought  to  be,  the  way  these  rich  city  fellows  are  dropping  money 
into  it.” 


INANIMATE  EXPRESSIONS. 

When  your  friend  asks  you  for  a twenty.  When  you  ask  him  for  the  return  of  the  twenty. 


nearer  he  saw  not  only  her 
white  gown,  but  her  gray 
hair.  She  was  stooping 
and  peering  behind  the 
bushes.  She  drew  nearer 
the  house.  As  she  reached 
the  steps,  he  heard  again 
that  plaintive  cry. 

At  first  he  could  not 
make  out  the  words  she 
cried,  but  in  a moment 
they  reached  him,  clear  and 
unmistakable : 

“ Kitty,  Kitty,  Kitty!" 
called  the  ghost. 

Even  more  noiselessly 
than  he  had  entered,  Har- 
old slipped  away  out  of 
sight.  He  did  not  allow 
himself  to  laugh  until  he 
was  half  across  the  street. 

“It  was  only  an  old 
woman  looking  for  her 
cat,”  he  called  to  Mar- 
cia. “And  now  I get  my  reward!” 

“ Oh,  no,  you  don’t!”  cried  the  girl.  She  picked  up 
her  skirts  and  fled  on  fleet  feet  down  into  the  mist-filled 
hollow.  He  pursued  her.  The  mists  caught  them  and 
hid  them.  Do  you  think  he  got  his  reward? 


Her  Roughing  Outfit. 

WITH  our  prying  X- 
ray, 

In  her  grip  we  discern 
The  latest  French  play, 

A cure  for  sunburn, 
Some  open-work  socks, 
Some  chocolate  creams, 
A Japanese  box 

Of  gloves  that  are 
dreams, 

Collections  unique 

Of  puff-balls  and  lace— 
She  will  rough  it  a week 
At  a camping-out  place- 

A Preference. 

<C  O HALL  w e have 
Tommy  Noodlepate 
for  dinner?”  asked  Mrs. 
Wiseacre. 

“No,  my  dear,”  said 
Professor  Wiseacre.  “I’m 
fond  of  calves-brains,  but 
I think  they  are  better 
for  luncheon  than  for  din- 
ner; and  besides,  they  are  not  served  on  the  hoof  this 
year.” 


C<  \AfHAT’S  done  to  kill  time  there?” 
**  “Oh,  the  bored  walk.” 


AN  OLD  TIMER. 


A CURIOUS  FACT. 

“Tim  Murphy’s  a loafer.  He  quits  th’  job  ivery  fifteen  minutes  an’  shtays  away  an  hour.” 


- 


Cupid  and  the  Summer  Girl 

By  LA  TOUCHE  HANCOCK 


SHE  SAT  on  the  shore  and  gazed  into  the  distance. 

Her  age  was  not  uncertain — quite  twoscore  and 
more.  Very  likely  she  had  been  beautiful  in 
the  far  off,  but  she  had  certainly  lost  her  good 
looks.  A lack  of  exercise  had  aged  her,  and  she  was 
distinctly  Maypoley;  in  fact,  hardly  an  enticing  pic- 
ture. Evidently  she  thought  so  herself,  for,  as  she 
gazed,  she  murmured,  “ Oh,  that  I could  be  beautiful 
again,  and  live  forever!”  Then  she  blinked.  (She  had 
a peculiar  habit  of  blinking  her  eyes  just  like  an  owl 
when  exposed  to  the  daylight.)  Resting  her  head  on  a 
small  rock,  and  humming  that' old,  old  ditty,  “ I wish  I 
had  some  one  to  love 
me,”  she  reclined  almost 
at  full  length.  Some  dis- 
tance away  was  another 
rock,  on  which  she  fixed 
her  eyes.  So  great  was 
her  concentration  that 
she  presently  fancied — 
no!  it  could  not  be  ! She 
blinked  again.  Yes,  it 
was  a diminutive,  half- 
clad  figure  approaching 
her,  carrying  a bow  and 
arrows.  The  form  ap- 
proached still  nearer.  It 
stood  before  her. 

“So,”  said  a voice, 

“ you  wish  to  be  beauti- 
ful and  live  forever?” 


The  words  were  spoken  in  such  a chummy,  half- 
humorous  way  that  she  was  encouraged  to  reply,  “ I do 
most  certainly!” 

“ Well,”  and  the  little  god  looked  her  up  and  down, 
“ it’s  not  difficult  to  make  you  live  forever,  but  ” — he 
made  a closer  scrutiny  of  her  features — “ it  will  be 
rather  a hard  task  to  make  you  beautiful.” 

She  blinked  at  the  rudeness  of  the  remark. 

“Pardon  me!”  went  on  Cupid;  “I  am  as  blunt  as 
some  of  my  arrows.  Tell  me  your  name.” 

“ Green,”  she  replied,  with  a tiny  blush. 

“Green?  And  your  first  name?” 

“Olive.” 

“ A colorable  combi- 
nation, and  yet  you  are 
dark.” 

“ I was  born  in  India 
and  have  curry  in  my 
blood.” 

Cupid  hid  a smile. 

“ Well,”  said  he  after 
a pause,  “ I’ll  make  the 
best  job  of  it  I can. 
Beauty  fades,  you  know ; 
but  I daresay  a little  un- 
natural attention  on  your 
part  will  preserve  the 
countenance  I shall  give 
you.  I can  only,”  he  add- 
“ grant  your  wish 
with  a qualification.  You 


MODERN  IMPROVEMENTS. 

First  scholar — “ What’s  the  ’lectrician  doin’  over  at  the  schoolhouse  ?” 

Second  scholar — “ Puttin’  in  a ’lectric  switch.” 

First  scholar — “Gee  mully  ! If  they’s  goin’  ter  do  the  lickin’  by  ’lectricity,  I quit.’' 


shall  ceminly  live  forever  if  you  wish  to,  though  I fan- 
cy you’ll  get  a trifle  tired  of  immortality;  but  as  for 
good  looks,  you  shall  enjoy  your  share  of  them  for  a 
time,  anyway.” 

“ Why  not  forever?”  she  interrupted. 

“ It  can’t  be  done,”  replied  Cupid;  “but  I’ll  make  a 
compromise.  What  do  you  say  to  becoming  a Summer 
Girl?” 

She  jumped  to  her  feet  with  delight. 

“ Agreed!”  she  cried  with  fervor. 

“Very  well.  Sit  down  again  and  close  your  eyes; 
and,  by  the  way,”  said  he,  as  he  commenced  to  walk 
away,  “ if  you  should  ever  need  me,  just  pronounce  my 
name,  and  I’ll  be  with  you.  Your  eyes  shut?  Ta,  ta!” 

For  a moment  she  lay  with  closed  eyes;  then  she 
opened  them  and  blinked.  Cupid  had  disappeared.  She 
looked  at  the  rock  in  the  distance.  It  was  apparently 
immovable.  Then  she  took  a small  hand  mirror  from 
her  pocket,  looked  into  it,  literally  leaped  for  joy,  and 
exclaimed, 

“ He  was  as  good  as  his  word!” 

Yes,  she  was  beautiful,  or  a3  beautiful  as  she  could 
be  made.  The  job  was  qualified,  but  certainly  accept- 
able. As  she  rapturously  kissed  the  mirror,  a man  ap- 
proached. His  face  was  pale  and  his  clothes  were  de- 
cidedly shabby.  His  hair  looked  underdone.  It  was 
quite  sanguineous.  He  stopped  a few  paces  from  her 
and  sighed. 

“Lovely  evening,”  he  murmured,  approaching  still 
closer.  She  fancied  she  had  heard  the  phrase  before, 
but,  being  now  a Summer  Girl,  she  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  his  small  talk. 

“Beautiful!”  she  murmured  in  unison;  and  then, 


A SHIP  OF  THE  DESERT  HEAVING  TWO. 


ONE  OPTIMIST  AT  LEAST. 
“ How’s  business  ?” 

“ Oh,  looking  up.  ” 


with  a nonchalance  that  was  surprising  to  herself, 
added,  “ Won’t  you  sit  down?”  He  would  and  did. 

“ Doesn’t  the  sea  look  delicious?”  she  next  ventured. 

“ The  sight  of  the  sea  ” — and  he  made  a grimace — • 
“ is  as  sickening  to  me  as  if  I were  on  it.  I look  upon 
it  as  a magnified  wash  basin.” 

This  was  disconcerting.  She  tried  again. 

“ Wasn’t  the  sunset  splendid  last  night?” 

“ I have  never  seen  the  sun  set,  and  I am  never  up 
late  enough  to  see  it  rise.” 

This  reply  was  so  astonishing  that  she  blinked  and 
blurted  out,  “ Are  you  a human  being?” 

“ No,”  said  he  convincingly,  “ I’m  not.  I’m  a mar- 
ried man  1” 

She  started  up  with  a shriek. 

“I  mean,”  he  corrected  himself,  “ I was  a married 
man.  I am  now  a kind  of  widower.” 

As  this  was  partially  satisfying,  she  resumed  her 
seat. 

“You  needn’t  be  alarmed,”  he  continued.  “I  am 
not  in  search  of  a wife,  but  a collaborateur.  ” 

An  idea  struck  her. 

“ You  are  a literary  man?” 

“Yes;  a ghost!”  then  perceiving  that  she  was 
alarmed,  “ but  a somewhat  substantial  ghost.  Once  on 
a time  no  happier  journalist  lived,  or  lied.  No  editor 
ever  put  my  manuscripts  in  the  basket  where  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  placing  his  waste  paper.  Whenever  I Wrote 
for  a periodical,  it’s  circulation  always  went  up  ten 
quires.  Then  came  a change.  I was,  the  editors  said, 
written  out.  I disagreed  with  them  and  formed  a plan. 
I would  not  wring  your  withers,  but  shall  I unfold  it  to 
you?” 

Being  in  doubt  as  to  the  exact  position  of  her  Withers, 
and  being  also  exceedingly  curious,  she  assented. 


GETTING  THE  MOST  OUT  OF  THE  BOARDERS. 


“ Miss  Pugg  came  out  to-day  in  one  of  those  new  tight- 
fitting  gowns  ’’ 


“ I noticed  that  some  of  the  contributions  to  the 
magazines,  with  celebrated  names  affixed,  were  con- 
temptibly weak.  The  works  of  the  present-day  writers 
had  become  exceedingly  uneven.  I knew  that  magazine 
editors  were  always  on  the  watch  to  discover  new  talent 
— in  old  names,  so  I became  a literary  ghost.  Had  I not 
done  so  I would  ere  now  have  been  a literal  ghost.” 

She  blinked  at  the  pun. 

“ I confess  it.  I am  a humbug.  I write,  and  the 
celebrated  authors  put  their  names  to  my  stories.” 

The  idea  was  so  novel  to  her  that  she  did  not  exercise 
her  prerogative  of  interrupting  him,  but  merely  glued 
her  eyes  on  his  face. 

“ I know  little  about  woman’s  dress.  Jet  passemen- 
terie, blue  broche,  chiffon,  filosselle  are  Greek  to  me. 
I steal” — and  he  lowered  his  voice  to  a whisper — “I 
steal  from  the  woman’s  pages.  I have  no  conception  of 
scenery.  I am  color  blind.  My  plots  and  characters 
are  as  old  as  the  hills.  Consequently,  I — and  the  cele- 
brated authors  whose  ghost  I am — are  successful!” 
“Wonderful,  yet  curious,”  she  muttered.  Then, 
“ You  said  you  had  been  married.  Did  your  wife  help 
you?” 

“ A little.  When  I first  met  her  spluttering  and 
gurgling  in  the  Atlantic,  she  filled  me  with  inspiration. 
Our  very  introduction  was  in  this  way  a kind  of  domestic 
idyl.  A writer,  I knew,  sometimes  acquires  a fresh 
lease  of  popularity  by  taking  a wife,  so  I took  one.” 
Again  a fit  of  nervousness  overtook  her. 

“ Where  is  she  now?”  she  faintly  inquired. 

He  disregarded  the  question  and  proceeded,  “ I am 
a bad  hand  at  the  matrimonial  game.  I am  eternally 

being  mated,  but  now  ” 

“ But  now?”  she  repeated. 

“ I am  in  search  of  a collaborates,  not  a wife.” 

She  considered  for  a moment.  According  to  the 
ethics  of  a Summer  Girl  it  didn’t  much  matter  whether 


he  was  married  or  not.  Therefore,  why  not  remain  in 
ignorance  of  his  domestic  affairs?  She  would. 

“ What  are  you  doing  here?”  she  asked. 

“ Here?”  and  he  sighed  again.  “ I left  the  giddy 
metropolis  for  a while  to  inhale  the  pure  and  ambient 

air  of  simple-minded  nature,  tinted  with  ” 

“ Yes,  I know,”  she  interrupted,  “ you  left  the  city 
for  a day  to  ” 

“Get  engaged,”  he  blurted.  This  comforted  her. 
He  was  evidently  not  married.  “ I have  had  enough  of 
marriage.  I wish  to  be  engaged — forever!” 

She  saw  her  opportunity.  She  had  never  heard  of  a 
Summer  Girl  marrying.  Why  not  be  engaged  forever? 
She  would  be.  He  had  led  up  to  the  subject.  She 
would  clinch  it. 

“ Don’tyou  hear  some  music?”  said  she  romantically. 
“ Only  your  voice,”  he  murmured  in  reply.  This  was 
a good  beginning.  He  followed  it  up. 

“ Who  are  you?” 

She  hesitated,  and  then  slyly  blinking  said,  “ A Sum- 
mer Girl” ! 

His  face  lighted  up. 

“ The  very  thing!” 

“Thing?” 

“ Woman,  adorable  woman,  I mean.  Will  you  be  en- 
gaged to  me  forever?” 

Impetuously  she  cried,  “ I will !” 

“ But  do  you  think  you — I mean — your  promise  will 
last  so  long?” 

“ Listen,”  said  she.  “ Once  in  my  young  days,  when 
I always  wished  to  be  what  I am  now,  I wrote  a poem.” 
He  shuddered. 

“Iam  not  a poet.” 

He  breathed  a sigh  of  relief. 

“But  under  some  weird  inspiration  these  lines  fell 
from  my  pen.  I don’t  think  they’re  bad.  Shall  I recite 
them?” 

“ Is  the  poem  long?” 

“No.” 

“ Then  I’d  love  to  hear  it.” 


NO  VIOLATION 
Old  party — “ Can’t  you  boys  read  ?” 

Boy — “ Cert,  mister ; but  it’s  all  right — we  can’t  swim." 


So  in  lilting  tones  she  spoke  as  follows: 

* Time  was  when  love  and  I were  well  acquainted, 
Time  was  when  we  walked  ever  hand  in  hand — 
A Summer  Girl  with  every  one  acquainted, 

None  better  loved  than  I in  all  the  land. 

Time  was,  I bore  a sisterly  relation 
To  very  nearly  every  man  I met; 

All  gazed  upon  me,  rapt  in  adoration. 

Ah,  me ! how  soon  my  sun  of  love  has  set ! 

“ Time  was  when  each  aspiring  bard  affected 
An  ode  to  me  in  rather  rapturous  rhyme. 

Why  is  it  now  the  Summer  Girl’s  neglected? 

You  never  hear  of  me  in  winter  time. 

Time  was — but  is  there  really  any  reason 

Why  times  so  good  as  those  should  pass  away? 
For  men  may  come,  and  men  may  go  each  season, 
But  I’ll  go  on  forever  and  a day!” 

“That  settles  it,”  he  exclaimed  as  she  finished. 
“ We  are  engaged  forever.” 

“Forever!”  she  echoed,  as  a neighboring  clock 
chimed  out  a quarter  of  the  hour  of  noon.  He  took  her 
in  his  arms. 

“ The  symbol  of  mutual  sympathy  between  man  and 
man  appears  when  cigar  meets  cigar.  When  man 

meets  woman,  a kiss  ” 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  looked  at  her.  “Great 
Scott!”  he  ejaculated,  “ what  a change!” 

“ Where?”  cried  she  in  dismay. 

“ In  the  weather,”  he  returned,  at  the  same  time  dis- 


engaging himself  from  her.  “ It’s  raining.  I almost 
always  carry  an  umbrella  with  me,  but,”  he  continued, 
“ I really  cannot  have  the  trouble  of  opening  it  only  to 
fold  it  up  again.  Good-by!”  And  off  he  actually  ran. 
She  stood  stupidly  staring  after  him  for  a moment  and 
then  flung  herself  on  the  sand. 

“ A lunatic!”  she  eried,  and  burst  into  tears.  Pres- 
ently, growing  calmer,  she  wiped  her  eyes,  and  taking 
out  her  pocket  mirror  looked  to  see  if  the  traces  of  tears 
were  quite  gone.  She  started  back  as  she  beheld  her 
old  face. 

“Cupid,  Cupid!”  she  shouted  in  alarm,  and  turning 
around  she  saw  the  little  god  standing  by  her. 

“ What’s  this?  You  have  deceived  me.” 

“Deceived  you?  Nay!”  said  Cupid.  “I  said  you 
should  be  beautiful  as  a Summer  Girl.  You  forget  the 
date.  ’Tis  now  September  the  twenty-third,  when  at 
eleven-forty-four  a.  m.  the  summer  ends.  Autumn  has 
begun,  and  with  autumn  you  resume  your  former  face.” 
“ A trick,’  she  cried.  “ No  more  of  this.  I’ll  be  no 

Summer  Girl  again.  I ” 

“Very  well, ’’said  Cupid  smiling.  “The  spell  is  taken 
off  entirely.  I think  you’re  wise.”  Then,  as  she  seemed 
about  to  change  her  mind,  he  took  a furtive  glance  at 
her  and  muttered  to  himself,  “ I don’t  think  I ever  be- 
fore realized  the  potentialities  of  ugliness  to  which  thr 
sex  may  attain.” 

Then  he  flitted,  and  left  her  blinking. 


HONK ! HONK ! 

She — “ Do  you  think  nervousness  can  be  cured  by  auto-suggestion  ?” 

He — “No  ; but  I think  a good  many  cases  could  be  cured  by  auto  suppression.** 


Jimson — “ Where’s  your  wife  ? Haven’t  seen  her  often  lately,’ 
Weed — “Oh,  I sent  her  away  on  a little  vacation.” 

Jimson — “ So  ? Where’d  she  go  ?’’ 

Weed — “ To  the  Thousand  Isles.” 

Jimson — “ Stay  long  ?” 

Weed — “Yes.  I told  her  to  take  a week  to  each  island.” 

For  Value  Received. 


No  One  Questions  It. 

AN  AUTOMOBILE  party  was  tour- 
ing through  the  mountainous  dis- 
trict  of  western  Pennsylvania,  and 
had  made  a stop  in  one  of  the  small 
towns  to  make  some  repairs  to  the 
machine.  While  they  waited,  the  at- 
tention of  one  of  the  party  was  called 
to  an  intelligent-looking  lad  of  about 
fourteen  who  seemed  to  be  very  much 
interested  in  the  work,  and  of  whom 
the  following  question  was  asked, 

“ Say,  son,  what  do  you  live  on  out 
here?” 

“Nuthin,”  replied  the  somewhat 
surprised  youth.  “ Dad’s  a preacher.” 


I OVE  is  a sea  skirted  by  long  piers, 
out  upon  which  young  couples 
stroll  to  sit  down  and  fall  in. 


By  DON  KAHN. 

Ann  Harbor,  Conn. 

PRESIDENT  Yarnell  University — Dear  sir:  I write 
to  tell  you  of  the  sociable  evening  that  I enjoyed 
last  week,  and  to  request  you  to  thank  your  sopho- 
more classes  for  the  same.  Wednesday  night  I attended 
prayer  meeting,  and  as  I stepped  out  of  the  church  was 
met  by  a gang  of  second-year  men,  fifty  strong.  My 
reception  was  most  cordial.  A freshman  at  your  univer- 
sity cannot  complain  that  he  is  given  any  half-way  wel- 
come. The  second-year  men  escorted  me  to  and  up  a 
very  high  maple  tree,  fearing,  I suppose,  that  from  the 
ground  I might  miss  some  of  the  beautiful  and  pictur- 
esque scenery  in  the  vicinity. 

Upon  descending  from  my  elevated  position  I was  in- 
troduced to  a young  lady  who  was  passing,  and  was 
invited  to  pour  out  my  soul  in  eloquence  to  her.  It 
speaks  for  great  liberality  of  thought  at  your  university 
that  one  should  be  so  heartily  encouraged  to  propose 
marriage  on  such  short  acquaintance.  I was  even  re- 
quested by  the  enthusiastic  sophomores  who  gathered 
about  me  to  kiss  the  young  lady’s  hand. 

A song  service  down-town  near  the  moving-picture 
show,  in  which  I was  given  a solo  part,  was  the  next 
thing  on  the  program.  Nine  “ rahs  ” for  the  sophomore 
class  and  a mud  bath  ended  the  exciting  evening  for  me. 

I mention  these  things  not  because  I believe  that  you 
are  actively  interested  in  them,  but  merely  to  show  you 
that  such  hospitality  is  appreciated  by  a stranger  who 
had  been  in  your  college  town  but  a short  time.  It  is 
this  sort  of  hospitality  that  speaks  louder  than  the 
welcome  on  the  door  mat. 

What  was  so  pleasing  about  the  whole  entertainment 
was  that  it  came  so  unexpectedly.  Had  I been  a fresh- 
man I might  have  anticipated  something  of  the  kind, 
but  merely  being  a traveling  man,  who  was  in  town  on  a 
business  visit,  I can  assure  you  that  it  came  as  an 
unlooked-for  pledge  of  universal  good  fellowship. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Martin  L.  Murdock. 


MIRACULOUS 

Englishman  (reading)—”  ‘ Keep  Out — This  Means  You!' 
Bah  Jove  ! how  did  they  know  I was  coming?” 


Crosscut's  Persuader 


By  GORTON  CARRUTH 


«VES>”  said  Judge  Crosscut  meditatively,  “ the 
JL  speed  mania  is  undoubtedly  a great  evil,  but 
it  is  not  incapable  of  correction.  Moral  sua- 
sion is  what  is  needed — not  coercive  measures.  Cir- 
cumstances once  forced  me  to  quiet  the  nerves  of  the 
speed  maniac,  and  the  methods  I adopted  were  peculiarly 
persuasive  and  efficient. 

“ I was  living  on  a farm  at  the  time,  and  naturally 
was  possessed  of  chickens,  cows,  pigs,  and  other  animals 
incident  to  the  bucolic  life.  Near  my  farm  passed  the 
main  highway 
leading  to  a neigh- 
boring large  city. 

Along  this  road 
there  shot  night 
and  morning  a 
quivering  streak 
of  automobilists 
going  to  and  from 
their  offices  in  the 
city.  Naturally 
my  live-stock  be- 
gan to  suffer. 

First  some  chick- 
ens, then  a couple 
of  pigs,  and  final- 
ly a cow  became 
the  unwilling  vic- 
tims of  the  gaso- 
line Juggernauts. 

The  chief  offend- 
er, and,  in  fact, 
the  leader,  was  a 
red-haired,  red- 
nosed individual 
in  goggles  who 
drove  a large  red 
car.  He  lived 
about  ten  miles  on 

beyond  my  place.  It  was  not,  I fear,  always  purely 
animal  spirits  that  drove  him  to  emulate  greased  light- 
ning. He  used  to  zigzag  through  my  unsuspecting  poul- 
try with  such  remarks  as,  ‘Caught  him  on  the  wing,’ 
‘ How’s  that  for  high?’  ‘ Over  the  fence  for  yours,’  and 
such  sporting  phrases.  I saw  that  I must  act  at  once  if 
I wished  any  of  my  stock  left  alive. 

“ So  I bought  myself  a light,  speedy  motor-cycle,  and 
constructed  thereon,  of  canvas,  rubber,  and  light  wood, 
a huge  figure  of  the  common,  every-day,  barnyard  rooster. 
It  stood  about  fifteen  feet  high  and  was  arranged  so  that 
I sat  on  the  saddle  within  the  body  of  the  bird.  The 
legs  hung  down  on  either  side  and  were  attached  to  the 
wheels  so  that  they  worked  back  and  forth  true  to 
nature. 

“ I selected  for  my  purpose  one  evening  at  dusk, 
. when  my  speedy  friend  came  racing  along,  tossing  my 
bens  about  in  his  usual  facetious  manner.  Then  just  as 


HkNGili*. 


TOO  MUCH 
Tall  man — “ Why,  Judkins,  old  man, 
Short  man — “ What ! Broke  again  ?” 


he  passed  I sparked  up  and  started  after  him  up  the 
road.  He  looked  back  and  saw  in  the  twilight  a gigan- 
tic rooster  leaping  after  him  with  great  twenty-foot 
strides,  wings  outspread  and  long  neck  stretched  for- 
ward, the  bill  opening  and  shutting  in  raucous  squawks. 
The  unfortunate  man  gave  one  glance,  then  threw  on  all 
his  power  and  crouched  down  in  his  seat.  But  he  could 
not  escape  me.  Gradually  I closed  up  on  him  and  reach- 
ing over  began  to  peck  at  the  back  of  his  neck  with  my 
tin  bill.  That  was  enough.  He  gave  a yell  of  terror, 

stopped  his  motor, 
lit  on  the  road  in 
front  on  all  fours, 
and  disappeared  in 
the  woods. 

“ He  never  re- 
turned for  the 
automobile  and  I 
took  possession  of 
it.  With  his  go- 
ing the  other 
fiends  quieted 
down  and  I was  no 
longer  troubled. 
Yes;  moral  sua- 
sion is  the  thing 
every  time.” 

Very  Busy. 

VEARS  ago  a 
* Northern  vis- 
itor was  walking 
along  the  street 
in  Jacksonville, 
when  he  espied  a 
small  darky  sit- 
ting in  the  sun, 
brushing  flies  off 
of  himself. 

“ Well,  ’Rastus,”  the  visitor  said,  pausing  to  address 
the  youth,  “ do  you  manage  to  keep  busy  these  days?” 

“ Yassuh,”  returned  the  boy. 

“Very  busy?”  queried  the  visitor  in  an  unbelieving 
tone  of  voice. 

“ All  de  time,  sub,”  said  the  boy. 

“ At  it  now?”  grinned  the  visitor. 

“ Yassuh,”  said  the  boy. 

“ What  is  your  business— shooing  flies?”  asked  the 
visitor. 

“No,  suh.  My  business  is  jest  growin’,  suh,”  ex- 
plained the  youth. 

Reasonable. 

Little  girl — “ Say,  mamma,  ain’t  I made  of  dust?” 

Moihei — “ Yes,  dear.” 

Little  girl — “ Well,  why  don’t  I get  muddy  when  I 
drink?” 


PLEASURE. 

I am  pleased  to  see  you  ! I ” 


The  Editor  and  White  Paper 

By  WILLIAM  J.  LAMPTON 


THE  Managing  Editor  of  a Metropolitan  Newspaper, 
price  one  cent,  was  submerged  in  thought.  He 
was  confronting  a condition,  not  a theory,  and  he 
was  chock  up  against  it. 

He  was  a very  Superior  Managing  Editor,  drawing  an 
Immense  Salary,  and  it  was  up  to  him  to  make  Good. 
This  he  had  done  Nobly  by  the  introduction  of  the  latest 
Improvements  in  News-getting,  Labor-increasing  De- 
vices for  Reporters,  New  and  Novel  Designs  for  Sunday 
Editors,  and  the  thousand  and  one  other  Methods  known 
only  to  Very  Superior  Managing  Editors.  The  result  of 
his  devotion  to  Duty  showed  in  a largely  augmented 
Circulation.  Indeed,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  announce  in 
Vociferous,  Vermilion  type  that  his  was  the  LARGEST 
CIRCULATION  in  the  City.  That  his  Obscure  Con- 
temporaries made  similar  "statements  did  not  disturb 
him  One  Whit.  They  were  mere  Imitators.  That  was 
all. 

Consequent  upon  the  Increased  Circulation  of  the 
paper,  Prices  of  Advertising  were  Advanced  to  the 
Limit,  as  was  Perfectly  Legitimate  and  Customary. 
This  was  done  by  the  Business  Office,  which  has  no 
Visible  Connection  with  the  Editorial  Office,  and  the 
Managing  Editor  had  not  been  apprised  of  it.  Nor  did 
he  care  to  be.  Business  was  none  of  his  business. 

The  Managing  Editor  continued  his  Efforts  with  Fer- 
vent Zeal,  and  the  Circulation  continued  to  increase. 
But  the  Advertisers  would  not  Stand  For  an  Increase  of 
Rates.  They  were  willing  to  play  the  Limit,  but  they 
id  not  w/sh  the  Roof  to  be  raised  to  accommodate  it. 


At  or  about  this  stage  of  affairs  came  the  Opportunity 
of  the  Managing  Editor’s  Life.  He  had  learned,  as  only 
Superior  Managing  Editors  can  learn,  of  a SCOOP  of 
such  Tremendous  Import  that  its  Virtues  would  last  not 
for  a Day  only,  but  for  Weeks  and  Weeks,  adding  New 
Readers  every  day.  It  would  cost  $5,000,  spot  cash,  to 
secure  it,  with  the  necessary  incidental  expenses.  The 
Managing  Editor  had  full  authority  over  incidentals,  but 
he  must  go  Higher  Up  for  a Large  Wad;  so  he  called  a 
meeting  of  the  General  Council,  including  the  Business 
Manager,  that  Commercial-minded  person  who  is  ordi- 
narily kept  Down-stairs  somewhere  out  of  the  Lime- 
light. 

The  Managing  Editor  stated  his  Case  in  Glowing 
Language,  and  the  Editorial  End  of  the  Council  exploded 
with  Enthusiasm.  It  was  the  Grandest  that  ever  hap- 
pened, and  they  turned  Admiring  Eyes  upon  the  Superior 
Managing  Editor,  who  blushed  with  Modest  Pride. 

Next  came  the  Business  Manager.  He  had  a Hook 
up  his  sleeve. 

“ You  say,”  he  said  in  Hard,  Unfeeling  tones,  “ that 
this  proposition  will  increase  our  Circulation  by  about 
50,000?” 

“At  a Moderate  Estimate,”  replied  the  Managing 
Editor,  whistling,  as  it  were,  to  keep  his  courage  up. 
“ I would  not  be  at  all  surprised  if  it  hit  the  hundred- 
thousand  mark.” 

” Very  well,”  continued  the  Business  Manager  with 
steely  coldness;  “ let  us  split  the  difference  and  call  it 
75,000.  Our  present  circulation  is  150,000.  With  white 


ON  INTIMATE  TERMS. 

Abner — “ Lan’  sakes  ! thet  nabob  in  the  automobile  waved  hi ' hand  at  ye  real  familiar  like.  Do  ye  know  him,  Si  ?” 
Squire  Si — “ Yew  bet ! Why,  I do  all  his  finin’  fer  him” 


paper  costing 
what  it  now  does, 
we  are  losing 
money  on  every 
paper  we  sell.  If 
you  increase  our 
circulation  fifty 
per  cent.,  you  in- 
crease our  losses 
fifty  per  cent., 
not  to  mention 
the  §5,000  you 
ask  for  to  effect 
*&e  additional 
loss.  That’s  all  I 
have  to  say,”  he 
concluded,  rising 
from  the  Council 
table;  “and  you 
may  look  over  the 
books  at  any  time 
to  verify  it.” 

The  Council, 
with  Dampened 
Ardor,  dissolved, 
and  the  Managing 
Editor  returned  to 
his  chair,  where 
he  became  sub- 
merged  in 
Thought,  as  else- 
where noted.  And 
the  Condition  con- 
fronting him  was 
This:  If  he  did 
not  Earn  his  Sal- 
ary by  supplying 
readers  with  the  Stuff  which  would  Increase  the  Circu- 
lation, he  would  lose  his  job;  and  if  he  Increased  the 
Circulation  the  Paper  would  Lose  the  Money  out  of 
which  his  Salary  was  paid,  thus  letting  him  in  Bad. 
Now  how  was  he  to  Escape  the  Business  Manager’s 
Hook? 

Infant  PhUosophy. 

THERE  was  a young  boy  known  as  Bill, 

Who  ate  till  he  made  himself  ill. 

When  his  mother  said  “ Why?” 

He  replied  with  a sigh, 

“ It’s  dreadful  how  quickly  I fill !” 

Promptness. 

By  F.  P.  PITZER. 

THE  Foozelem  Insurance  Company  is  noted  for  its 
promptness  in  settling  claims.  The  last  pulse- 
beat  of  an  insurant  is  hardly  sounded  when  the 
first  hoof-beat  heard  on  the  threshold  belongs  to  our 
agent  coming  to  pay  the  claim. 

This  is  on  the  dead  level. 

Die  and  see  for  yourself. 

We  give  below  a few  testimonials. 

We  have  millions  more  just  like  them.  Come  to  the 


office  and  count 
them. 

July  1st,  1909. 
Gentle  men — 
My  husband  was 
insured  in  your 
company  for  $5,- 
000.  Last  week 
he  drowned  him- 
self. When  they 
pulled  him  out  of 
the  water  a Fooze- 
lem check  for  $5,- 

000  was  found  in 
his  back  pocket 
in  settlement  of 
the  claim.  Thanks. 

July  13th,  1909. 

Gentle  men — 
My  better  half 
was  blown  up  in 
amine.  His  beau- 
tiful architectural 
anatomy  was  scat- 
tered over  five  or 
six  counties.  His 
feet  blew  into  the 
tenth  story  of  a 
skyscraper  and 
kicked  out  the  of- 
fice-boy. One  of 
his  hands  was 
found  twelve 
miles  away  tight- 

1 y clutching  a 
Foozelem  ^check 
for  $1,000,  in  set- 
tlement of  a poli- 
cy for  that  amount 
which  he  had  in 
your  company.  It 
is  believed  that 
the  check  was  giv- 
en to  the  hand  while  it  was  being  blown  past  the  Fooze- 
lem Company’s  window  of  its  down-town  office. 

June  23d,  1909. 

Gentlemen — My  hubby,  who  owns  a Foozelem  policy, 
was  continually  worrying  about  his  gray  hair.  So  he 
dyed.  Your  death-claims  department  immediately  sent 
me  a check  for  the  amount  of  his  policy.  My  husband 
wishes  me  to  thank  you. 

Avoiding  Temptation. 

Tommy — “ Ma,  I met  the  minister  on  my  way  to 
Sunday  school,  and  he  asked  me  if  I ever  went  fishing 
on  Sunday.” 

Mater — “ And  what  did  you  say,  darling?” 

Tommy — “ I said,  * Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan,’  and 
ran  right  aw**  'rom  him.” 

Couldn’t  Afford  To  Throw  It  Away. 

Uncle  Ebb  (feebly) — “ Well,  Hanna,  I reckon  you  had 
better  call  de  chillun  aroun’  me,  ’cause  I believes  I’s 
gwine  die.” 

Aunt  Hanna — “ No,  you  ain’t.  You  ain’t  gwine  do 
no  such  a thing  till  you  takes  dis  here  medicine  what  I 
done  gone  and  paid  a dollar  and  a half  for-  ’* 


PUZZLED. 

“Don’  yo’  reco’nize  me,  Uncle  Eph  ?” 

“Well,  yo’  face  looks  fawmilyah,  but  yo’  feet  dun  grow  out  uv  mah 
recollecshun.  ” 


Giving  the  Sheath  Skirt  a Cold  Shoulder 


By  BETH  THORNDYKE  LORING 


TWO  BATHING-SUITS  flapped  on  the  line  trying 

to  get  dry. 

Suddenly  one  laid  a wet  arm  on  the  other’s 

shoulder. 

“Look!”  she  cried  excitedly;  “did  you  know  who 
was  next  to  us?” 

The  other  Bathing-suit  looked  and  shivered. 

“That  Sheath  creature,”  she  said  contemptuously. 
“ Are  you  going  to  bow?” 

“ Never!”  returned  the  other  firmly.  “ We  will  side- 
step her.  She  is  too  fly  away  for  me.” 

“ I’m  afraid,  though,  she  will  soon  be  in  the  swim,” 
returned  the  second. 

“ Well,  I for  one  will  throw  cold  water  upon  her 
social  schemes.  She  is  too  fresh  for  me.” 

“ You  are  quite  right.  She  can’t  travel  on  the  same 
wave  with  us.  She  is  looking.  Let’s  blow  the  other  way.” 
“ Poor  thing!  I am  afraid  she  heard  us.  She  looks 
all  cut  up.” 

“ Oh,  that’s  her  main  card.  Did  you  notice  how 
those  swells  took  her  up  this  morning?” 


“ They  will  soon  break  her  if  she  tries  to  float  with 
them.  Watch  how  she  flirts  with  the  breeze.  Isn’t  she 
bold?” 

“Yes;  she  goes  entirely  too  far.” 

“ Oh,  I know  she  heard  us  that  time;  she  looked  as  if 
she  would  like  to  rip  us  open.” 

“ Who  cares  what  a double-faced  person  like  herself 
thinks?  In  the  water  this  morning  she  looked  blue  with 
the  cold  from  the  frappe  stares  she  received  on  both 
sides.” 

“ She  has  too  much  side.” 

“Yes;  she  is  such  bad  form,  and  so  open  about  it. 
She  doesn’t  seem  to  care.  She  is  looking  again.  Quick  i 
Blow  the  other  way.” 

The  Sheath  Skirt,  however,  only  tossed  herself  airily 
in  the  breeze  and  nearly  split  her  sides  laughing  at  them. 


Mrs.  Green — “ You  have  never  taken  me  to  the  ceme- 
tery.” 

Mr.  Green — “ No,  my  dear.  I still  have  that  pleasure 
in  anticipation.” 


BADLY  PUT. 

“ No,  my  friend ; I will  not  be  still.  Your  poor  horse,  alas  ! cannot  speak,  like  Balaam’s  ass ; but  I would  have  you 
know,  sir,  that  I can!’’  •’ 


The  Transformation 

By  DONALD  A.  KAHN 


KNOCK  at  the  door. 

The  magazine  editor  stopped  shoving  rejection 
slips  into  the  self-addressed  stamped  envelopes, 
took  the  stogie  from  his  mouth,  spit  into  the 
waste-basket,  and  yelled,  “ Come  in!" 

The  door  opened  with  determination,  and  an  indi- 
vidual walked  in  who  looked  as  if  he  were  a prosperous 
business  man.  At  this  sight  the  editor  arose,  politely 
placed  a chair  for  his  distinguished-looking  visitor,  and 
assumed  the  genial  air  which  he  used  with  advertisers 
in  his  magazine. 

“ What  can  I do  for  you,  sir?”  he  asked. 

“ I have  called,”  began  the  prosperous-looking  gen- 
tleman, “ I have  called  to  see  you  in  regard  to  a small 
matter  which  I believe  will  result  to  our  mutual  ad- 
vantage. I am  not  encroaching  upon  your  time?” 

“ Certainly  not!”  responded  the  editor. 

“ You  have  a nice  little  magazine,  and  from  the  ad- 
vertising pages  ” 

“ Yes;  our  circulation,  in  round  numbers,  is  294,587,- 
634,657,”  interrupted  the  editor. 

“ As  I was  saying,  from  the  advertising  pages  to  the 
front  cover,  it  is  as  good  a literary  article  as  is  on  the 
news-stands  to-day.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  said  the  editor,  in  an  axle-grease 
voice. 

“ From  the  appearance  of  your  periodical,  I should 
judge  that  you  are  very  liberal  in  your  attitude  toward 
your  subscribers  and  your  contributors.” 

“ Yes,  sir,”  said  the  editor.  But  there  was  a slight 
hitch  in  his  voice. 

“ Now  here  I have  a very  clever  little  thing  called 
The  Beauties  of  Spring.’ ” He  took  a roll  of  manuscript 
from  an  inside  pocket. 

The  magazine  editor 
was  so  badly  shocked  that 
he  knocked  off  the  pot  of 
paste  and  upset  the  waste- 
basket. 

“You’re  not  a poet?” 
he  gasped  incredulously. 

“Yes,”  answered  the 
prosperous-looking  i n d i - 
vidual  simply. 

“But  your  clothes!” 
shrieked  the  editor.  “They 
are  in  style,  they  fit;  your 
collar  and  shirt  are  the 
latest  design;  your  tie  is 
not  one  of  those  flowing 
Lord  Byron  bows!” 

“I  know  it,”  replied 
the  poet  quietly.  “ You 
see,  I’ve  been  reading  your 
department  called,  * The 
Correctly  Dressed  Man.’  It 
was  there  that  I learned.” 


The  editor  was  mystified.  “But  the  quality!  "Stm 
are  dressed  in  the  very  best — that  takes  money!” 

“ I know,”  said  the  poet.  “ I’ve  made  money;  I’ve 
been  reading  your  page  on  ‘Safe  Investments.’  ” 

“ But  your  air  of  confidence,  your  poise,  your  way  of 
introducing  yourself  and  your  business!  You  don’t  act 
like  a poet.” 

“ Time  was  when  I was  bashful,  and  I used  to  sneak 
into  an  editorial  office  as  if  I had  stolen  something,” 
responded  the  poet  quietly;  “but  your  column  on  the 
‘ Development  of  the  Personality  ’ helped  me.” 

“ Well,  don’t  that  beat  Ed  Bock !”  said  the  astonished 
editor,  reaching  for  his  check-book,  and  taking  his 
fountain-pen  off  his  ear.  “ Here,  I’ll  take  your  stuff. 
I never  had  any  idea  any  one  ever  read  those  depart- 
ments.” 

Emotional  Insanity. 

A GAY  young  Parisian,  de  Laine, 

Long  courted  an  heiress  in  vain. 

When  he  said,  “ Now  or  niver!” 

She  answered,  “ Au  river!” 

So  he  promptly,  of  course,  went  in  Seine. 

Unprofitable. 

Kind  old  lady — “Why,  my  dear  little  boy,  what  is 
the  use  of  crying  like  that?” 

Little  boy — “ ’Tain’t  no  use.  I’ve  been  cryin’  like 
this  all  mornin’  an’  nobody  ain’t  give  me  a penny  yit.” 

Small  Difference  Then. 

Friend — “But,  man,  you  must  fight!  You’ll  be 
branded  as  a coward.  Your  honor  is  at  stake.” 

Challenged — “ I’ll  not  fight.  What’s  a man’s  honor 
when  his  wife’s  a widow?” 

A Little  Home  Talk. 

ILLIE?” 

“ Yes’m.” 

“ Have  you  been  in 
swimming?” 

“ No'm.” 

“ How  did  your  shirt 
get  so  wet?” 

“ I perspirated  on  it — 
honest,  I did.”' 

“What?” 

“ Yes’m.  That’s  what 
done  it.  I run  so  fast  to 
get  away  from  where  I 
would  be  tempted  to  dis- 
obey you  that  I got  all  wet 
with  sweat.” 

“Willie?” 

“Yes’m.” 

“ Come  here.” 
“Yes’m.” 


AN  AERIAL  FRANKFURTER. 
“Oh,  ma  I look  at  the  dog-angel.” 


ONE  FOR  THE  MINISTER. 

AN  OLD  minister  in  the  south  side  of  Glasgow,  who 
* * was  noted  for  his  habit  of  dishing  up  old  sermons 
again  and  again,  was  one  day  advertised  to  preach  in  a 
suburban  church  at  the  anniversary  service  there.  An 
old  woman  who  in  days  gone  by  had  sat  under  his  min- 
istry, but  who  had  now  removed  from  his  neighborhood, 
determined  to  go  in  and  hear  him  preach  on  this  particu- 
lar occasion.  After  the  close  of  the  service  she  waited 
on  the  clergyman,  who  greeted  her  cordially  and  asked 
what  she  thought  of  his  discourse.  % 

“ Eh,  man,”  she  replied  candidly,  “ it’s  a lang  time 
sin’  I first  heard  ye  preach  that  yin,  sir,  and  I’ve  heard 
ye  at  it  a guid  wheen  o’  times  sin’  syne.” 

‘‘Aye,  Janet,”  said  the  minister.  “ How  often  do 
ye  think  ye’ve  heard  it,  na?” 

“ Oh,  aboot  a dizzen  o’  times,  sir,”  she  replied. 

“ An’  div  ye  mind  it  a’?”  said  the  minister. 

“ Aweel,  maybe  no’  it  a’,  sir.” 

“ Weel,  I see  I’ll  need  to  preach  it  to  ye  again, 
Janet,”  said  the  minister;  and  Janet  felt  that  she  had 
been  sold  for  once. 

WISE. 

^T'HE  TRAVELER  met  an  old  colored  man  tug- 
* ging  away  at  the  bridle  of  a balky  mule. 

“ What’s  the  matter  with  him, 
uncle?”  asked  the  traveler. 

‘‘Jess  full  of  pure  cussedness,  Ah 
specs,  sah.  He’ll  stay  right  in  dat  same 
position  foh  two  or  three  houahs,  sah.” 

“That  so?  Well,  why  don’t  you 
build  a fire  under  him?” 

“ What?  A fire  under  dat  mule? 

Lands,  mister,  if  Ah  was  to  build  a fire 
under  dat  mule,  he’d  stay  here  all  day 
en  wahm  hisself.” 


STRATEGY. 

AN  IRON  hoop  bounced  through  the 
area  railings  of  a suburban  wom- 
an’s house  recently  and  played  havoc 
with  the  kitchen  window.  The  woman 
waited,  anger  in  her  eye,  for  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  hoop’s  owner.  Pres- 
ently he  came. 

“Please,  I’ve  broken  your  winder, ” 
he  said,  “ and  here’s  my  father  to  fix 
it.” 

And,  sure  enough,  he  was  followed 
by  a stolid-looking  workman,  who  at 
once  started  to  work,  while  the  small 
boy  took  his  hoop  and  ran  off. 

“That’ll  be  a dollar,  ma’am,”  an- 
nounced the  glazier  when  the  window 
was  whole  once  more. 

“A  dollar!”  gasped  the  woman. 
“But  your  little  boy  broke  it!  The 
little  fellow  with  the  hoop,  you  know. 
■You’re  his  father,  aren’t  you?” 


The  stolid  man  shook  his  head. 

“ Don’t  know  him  from  Adam,”  he  said.  “ He  came 
around  to  my  place  and  told  me  his  mother  wanted  her 
winder  fixed.  You’re  his  mother,  aren’t  you?” 

And  the  woman  shook  her  head  also. 


PLAIN  ENGLISH. 

YI Y THE  extraordinary  contortions  of  her  neck,  ne 
concluded  that  she  was  trying  to  get  a glimpse  of 
the  back  of  her  new  blouse;  by  the  tense  lines  and 
scintillating  flesh  about  her  lips,  he  concluded  that  her 
mouth  was  full  of  pins. 

“ Umph — goof — suff — wuff — sh — ffs — pog — uff?”  she 
asked. 

“Quite  so,  my  dear,”  he  agreed;  “it  looks  very 
nice.” 

“ Ouff — wun — so — gs — phu — muf — ugh — ight?”  was 
her  next  remark. 

“ Perhaps  it  would  look  better  if  you  did  that,”  he 
nodded;  “but  it  fits  very  nicely  as  it  is.” 

She  gasped  and  emptied  the  pins  into  her  hands. 

“ I’ve  asked  you  twice  to  raise  the  blinds  so  that  I 
could  get  more  light,  James,”  she  exploded.  “Can’t 
you  understand  plain  English?” 


A LEADING  QUESTION. 

! Is  this  town  a good  place  for  a fellow  to  come  to  who  is  a bit  run  down  ?” 
1 Whiskey  er  automobiles  ?” 


The  Making  of  a Magazine 

By  RALPH  BERGENGREN 


A YOUNG  man  with  a magazine  under  his  arm  pene- 
trated into  a busy  man’s  office.  The  busy  man 
looked  up  from  his  work,  and  with  a deft  move- 
ment the  young  man  spread  open  the  advertising  section 
of  the  magazine. 

“ Just  a moment,”  said  the  young  man.  “ Advertis- 
ing section  of  Promiscus’s  Magazine — you  know  Promis - 
cns’s  Magazine.  Syndicate  of  big  advertisers  bought 

space.  Magazine  guarantees  300,000” 

“ I’m  not  an  advertising  ” 

“No.  Certainly  not.  Guarantees  300,000  circula- 
tion. Has  200,000.  Needs  100,000  more.  Needs  ’em 
immediately.  Makes  following  generous  offer  to  busi- 
ness men.  Free  subscription  for  one  year  to  first  100,- 

000  subscribers.  All  you  do  is  sign  ” 

“ I never  ” 

“ No.  Certainly  not.  All  you  do  is  sign  application. 
No  charge.  Simply  write  name  on  slip  of  paper.  Mere 

formality.  Subscription  an  item.  In  addition  ” 

“But” 

“ Certainly.  In  addition  free  edition  of  Ralph  Waldo 


DEAD  QUITE  A WHILE. 

Gardener — “ It  smokes  like  a 1902  model,  doesn't  it?’ 
Coachman — “It  smells  like  an  1892.” 


Emerson.  These  few  pages  mere  sample.  Splendid 
paper,  type,  illustrations.  Remarkable  chance  to  in- 
crease library  without  expense.  Classic  work.  Maybe 

you  wonder  ” 

“Ido.” 

“ Naturally.  Edition  printed  by  subscription. 
Limited.  One  thousand  copies.  Mistake  in  office. 
Two  thousand  printed.  Extra  thousand  can’t  be  sold. 
Unfair  to  original  subscriber.  Decide  to  give  ’em 
away.  Increase  circulation.  Advance  interests  of  lit- 
erature. Splendid  oppor  ” 

“ I already  have  a set  of  Emerson.” 

“ No.  Certainly.  Easily  remedied.  Substitute  set 
of  Sir  Conan  Doyle.  Wrote  Sherlock  Holmes  stories. 
Classic.” 

“ I’m  afraid  I don’t  ” 

“ In  addition  this  dictionary.  Small,  convenient  dic- 
tionary. Ornament  to  table.  Useful  to  whole  family. 

Given  to  first  two  hundred  ” 

“ Anything  else?” 

“ First  two  hundred  subscribers.  No  expense.  Three 

cents  ” 

“ Three  cents?” 

“Nominal.  Not  intended.  Mistake  in  office.  Every- 
thing arranged  to  extend  exceptional  opportunity.  But 
forgot  stenographers.  Large  office  force  necessary. 

Work  night  and  day.  Three  cents  ” 

“ Why  three  cents?” 

“ Nominal  charge  for  office  expenses.  Foolish  to 
send  bills  for  three  cents — three  cents  a day,  you  under- 
stand. Very  small  sum.  Send  card  once  a week  with 
place  to  insert  quarter.” 

“Oh!  Twenty-five  cents.” 

“ Insert  quarter.  Send  cards  for  fourteen  weeks. 
All  paid.  Everything  yours  without  charge.  Sub- 
scription to  Promiscus’s.  Set  of  Emerson  or  Conan 

Doyle.  Ornamental  dictionary.  Now  you  see” 

The  business  man  looked  sternly  at  his  visitor. 

“ I don’t  see,”  he  said  in  an  unmistakable  voice. 

“ No.  Certainly,”  said  the  young  man.  “ Remark- 
able offer.”  And  he  disappeared  rapidly  toward  the 
next  office. 

Maid  of  Athens. 

MAID  of  Athens,  ere  we  part, 

Never  mind  about  my  heart. 

Give,  oh,  give  me  back  the  ring 
And  each  fair,  expensive  thing 
That  I sent  you,  and  each  note 
Which  in  those  dead  days  I wrote — 

They  are  what  the  jury  says 
Indicate  the  damages ! 

Mystified. 

Mr.  Younghusband — “ Don’t  you  understand  how  to 
ao  it,  darling?” 

Mrs.  Younghusband — “Yes,  1 understand,  all  right; 
but  it  says,  ‘ first  clean  your  chicken,’  and  I don’t  know 
whether  to  use  toilet  or  scouring  soap.” 


COMFORTING. 


Nervous  man — “Now  you’re  quite  certain,  old  ipan,  that  you  understand  all  about 
sailing  a boat  ?” 

Friend — “Yes,  to  be  sure,  dear  boy  ! Had  a full  correspondence  course  in  it  out 
in  Stanton,  Pa.” 


The  Parting. 

THE  END  OF  SUMMER. 

By  EDWIN  L.  SABIN. 

DEAR  old  crash  suit,  good-by, 
good-by ! 

There  blows  a hostile  breeze. 

I say  it  with  a welling  eye 
And  with  an  ailing  sneeze. 

Tho’  close  as  you  have  clung  to  me 
So  close  I’d  cling  to  you, 

A cold,  cold  world  demands  that  we 
Do  bid  a quick  adieu. 

’Tis  true  you’ve  chosen  times  to 
shrink 

Your  duty,  and  expose 
Some  inside  facts  — the  least,  I 
think, 

My  wristbands  and  my  hose; 

But  then  you  might,  I’m  free  to 
say, 

Hfeve  had  a meaner  fit, 

And  in  a most  ill-natured  way 
More  seriously  have  split. 

We’ve  moved  together  ’mid  the 
throng; 

We’ve  shared  in  love  and  sport; 

Old  suit,  although  I’ve  known  you 
long, 

Now  all  too  short,  too  short! 

But  when  the  frost  its  course  has 
* run, 

And  warmth  returns,  we’ll  see 
If  you  won’t  suit  my  little  son 
As  onee  you  suited  me. 

Fido  Broke  a Tooth. 

A YOUTH  slunk  into  the  dentist’s 
* * office  with  a pained  expres- 
sion on  his  face.  His  hat  was  gone 
and  his  smart  attire  showed  evi- 
dence of  a struggle. 

The  dentist  stepped  forward 
with  a professional  air.  “ What  can  I do  for  you?” 

The  youth  glanced  apprehensively  at  the  door.  “ I — 
I wish  to  have  a tooth  removed.” 

“ Very  well,  please  be  seated.” 

Shuffling  over  to  the  chair,  the  youth  crawled  into  it 
on  his  hands  and  knees.  The  dentist  looked  on  in 
amazement. 

“ Great  heavens !”  he  cried,  “ what’s  the  matter  with 
you?  Are  you  crazy?” 

“ Well,  you  see,  I went  to  call  on  Miss  Neverhome, 

and — and  ” 

“ And  what?” 

“Fido  bit  me.” 

Another  Variety. 

<«  ^■'AN  HE  talk  readily  on  his  feet?”  asks  the  chair- 
man  of  the  meeting  of  the  delegate  who  wants 
him  to  ask  a committeeman  to  deliver  an  impromptu 
address. 

“ I never  knew  him  to  do  that,”  answers  the  dele- 
gate; “ but  I’ll  tell  you  what  I did  see  him  do  once.  I 
saw  him  address  a bunch  of  deaf-mute  voters,  and  he 
gave  them  a rattling  good  talk  on  his  hands.” 


Without  Honor  in  His  Own  Country. 

it  T^O  YOU  know,”  said  the  famous  man  with  a rem- 
iniscent  chuckle,  “ that  it  used  to  be  the  height 
of  my  ambition  to  get  my  name  in  the  county  paper  so 
old  Tommy  Jones  would  see  it.  But,  alas!” — and  the 
great  man  sighed — “ now  that  I suppose  old  Tommy  has 
the  fence  rail  I used  to  whittle,  in  the  parlor  as  a relic, 
I do  not  care  at  all  for  his  praise.” 

“ Do  you  know,”  said  old  Tommy  Jones  in  a philo- 
sophical mood,  as  he  leaned  on  his  plow  handles  talking 
to  Bill  Dodd,  “ that  I used  to  think  them  fellers  we  read 
about  in  the  papers  was  great  men.  But  they  ain't. 
There’s  that  Billings  boy  that  used  to  hoe  corn  for  me. 
Now  he’s  gittin’  his  name  in  the  paper  as  often  as  any 
of ’em.  And  shucks!  He  ain’t  nothin’ but  a common, 
ordinary  runt.” 

Evading  the  Issue. 

Mrs.  Lushington — “And  there  you  were,  at  three 
o’clock  in  the  morning,  hugging  that  cigar-store  Indian.” 
Mr.  Lushington — “ Surely,  my  dear,  you  are  not 

jealous?” 


A Problem  Tale 


By  WILLIAM  J.  LAMPTON 


€t  VF  YOU  love  me,  Noah.” 

Jl  It  was  Susan  Spynster,  speaking  in  a gently 
pleading  tone  to  N.  Webster  Wilkinson,  an  im- 
passive person  and  erudite  professor  of  orthography, 
etymology,  syntax,  and  prosody,  to  whom  she  had 
plighted  her  troth;  and  her  plight  was  not  the  happiest, 
owing  to  the  professor’s  unstudied  neglect  of  her  for 
those  philological  branches  which  he  did  study. 

He  looked  up  from  the  book  in  which  he  was  pro- 
foundly absorbed  at  the  moment,  and  a perceptible 
frown  of  protest  against  this  unsolicited  disturbance 
flitted  across  his  pale  and  corrugated  brow. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,”  he  said,  gazing  inquiringly  at 
her  over  his  huge  horn  reading  spectacles. 

“ If  you  love  me,  Noah,”  she  repeated  slowly,  in  the 
same  appealing  tone. 

He  did  not  respond  to  this,  but  settled  back  in  his 
chair,  wrapped  in  the  thought  generated  by  her  words. 
He  was  analyzing  the  phrase  which  she  had  used  in  ex- 
pressing herself. 

“ If  you  love  me — if  you  love  me,”  he  repeated  men- 
tally, as  if  to  get  a firmer  grasp  upon  it.  “Um  let  me 
see!  If  the  emphasis  is  on  the  first  word,  her  remark 
becomes,  * If  you  love  me,’  implying  doubt  of  my  affec- 
tion. But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  I love  her.  There- 
fore that  is  not  the  interpretation.  Again,  if  the  em- 
phasis be  on  the  second  word,  her  remark  becomes,  * If 
you  love  me,’  and  I am  confronted  by  the  possibility 
that  there  may  be  some  other  also  who  loves  her.  Is 


she  false  to  me?  Has  my  beloved  Susan  permitted  a 
rival  to  come  between  us?  Never!  Impossible!  Ridic- 
ulous! Again,  if  the  emphasis  be  on  the  third  word, 
her  remark  becomes,  ‘ If  you  love  me,  ’ and  she  implies 
by  that  that  my  feeling  for  her  is  something  other  than 
love.  Is  it  thinkable  that  she  can  question  the  senti- 
ment I cherish  for  her?  No,  no;  and  I shall  not  think 
it.  But  there  must  be  some  meaning.  Let  me  finish 
the  analysis.  If  the  emphasis  be  on  the  final  word,  her 
remark  becomes,  ‘ If  you  love  me,’  which  is  a direct  im- 
plication that  I,  her  promised  husband,  may  love  an- 
other. Perish  the  thought!  Susan  is  the  one  woman 
in  the  world  for  me,  as  she  has  been  already  reliably  in- 
formed— and  yet  this  possible  doubt  of  my  sincerity — • 
nay,  my  honesty ! * Shall  I — but,  no ! I must  not  judge 
hastily.  I must  know  definitely  ere  I act.” 

The  train  of  thought  stopping  at  that  point,  the  pro- 
fessor got  off  and  addressed  himself  to  Miss  Spynster. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  Susan,”  he  said,  with  consider- 
able effort  to  be  calm;  “ will  you  be  kind  enough  to  re- 
peat your  remark?” 

“ If  you  love  me,  Noah,”  she  responded,  with  child- 
like obedience,  the  professor  listening  with  the  most 
alert  attention. 

Every  word  received  an  equal  share  of  emphasis. 
The  professor  was  wholly  unable  to  detect  the  slightest 
shade  of  difference  in  the  evenly  balanced  articulation. 
He  rested  his  massive  brow  upon  the  index  finger  of  his 
right  hand  for  some  time. 

“I  wonder  what  she 
means,”  he  muttered  to 
himself,  and  once  more  be- 
came absorbed  in  the  vol- 
ume before  him. 

Susan,  suppressed,  sat 
silent,  sorrowful,  super- 
fluous. 


Coach-dog — “Gee  ! I never  thought  the  business  would  ever  come  to  this.” 


A Hired  Man. 

Hewitt — “ I am  terribly 
sorry  for  you,  old  boy.  I 
hear  that  a man  ran  away 
with  your  wife  the  other 
day.” 

Jewett — “ I am  glad  you 
spoke  of  it.  It  makes  me 
think  that  I’ve  got  to  send 
him  a check.” 

Sure  Weather 
Prophets. 

Seaver  — “I  wish  those 
city  folks  would  hurry  up 
and  have  another  picnic.” 

Weaver — “ By  heck!  if 
they  don’t  the  country’ll  all 
dry  up.  We  need  rain.” 


“PRIDE  GOETH.’* 


1.  Foxy  Frank — “ There’ll  be  three  cases  of  hysterics  when  they  see  my  ridin’  stunt. 
Eastern  girls  always  gits  ’em.’’ 


The  Handicap. 

By  WILLIAM  H.  HAMBY. 

<4  AH,  PROFESSOR,  I am  completely  discouraged, 
A * all  out  of  heart.”  And  the  youth  with  the  high 
forehead  slumped  down  on  a hard-bottomed  chair  and 
stared  moodily  out  of  the  window. 

“ Discouraged?  out  of  heart?”  echoed  the  professor, 
looking  up  with  an  incredulous,  indignant  frown  on  his 
thin  face.  “ Why,  my  dear  sir,  are  you  not  aware  that 
‘ slow  and  steady  wins  the  race  ’?” 

“ I am,”  answered  the  young  man  sadly. 

“ Do  you  not  know  that  all,  practically  all,  great  men 
were  plodders — men  who  had  to  fight  their  way  inch  by 
inch?  Do  you  not  know  that  the  notable  successes  in 
life  have  been  made  by  those  who  were  naturally  dull?” 

“ I do.” 

“ It  is  the  brilliant  ones  that  fail — the  ones  to  whom 
learning  comes  easily.  Where  are  the  valedictorians  of 
other  days?  Statistics  prove 
that  those  who  were  expected 
to  make  'their  dollar  mark  on 
the  earth  never  even  made  a 
cent.” 

“I  have  heard  that, ” said 
the  young  man  gloomily. 

“ Then  why  be  discouraged, 
why  be  downhearted?  Why 
not  persevere  as  did  Demos- 
the”- 

“ Simply,  professor,”  broke 
in  the  young  man,  “ because  I 
am  one  of  the  bright  ones.” 

The  professor’s  jaw  drop- 
ped, and  he  stared  at  the  young 
man  over  his  glasses.  Then  a 
sad  smile  of  fellowship  broke 
over  his  face  ar.d  he  came  for- 
ward arid  offered  his  hand. 

“ I,  too,  was  one  of  the  bright 


ones,”  he  said,  with  a sigh. 
“ That  is  why  I hav6  never 
been  president  of  this  univer- 
sity.” 

Had  Made  a Name 
for  Himself. 

Zk  WELL  - KNOWN  public 
* * man,  who  was  spending 
the  winter  in  Washington,  had 
for  his  next-door  neighbors  a 
family  with  an  aged  negro  in 
their  employ  who  might  have 
passed  for  the  original  of 
Uncle  Remus,  in  so  far  as  his 
personal  appearance  was  con- 
cerned. The  old  man  appeared 
bright  and  early  every  morning 
and  swept  off  the  walk,  took 
care  of  the  ashes,  and,  in  short, 
was  general  chore  manager  of 
the  premises. 

The  newcomer,  seeing  the  old  fellow  at  work  one 
morning,  accosted  him  in  genial  fashion,  and  received 
the  usual  gracious  response. 

“ What  is  your  name?”  he  asked  the  darky. 

“ George  Washin’ton,  suh,”  said  the  negro. 

“George  Washington,  eh?  George  Washington— 
seems  very  familiar.  Seems  to  me  I’ve  heard  that  name 
before.” 

“ Well,  I guess  maybe  you  all  ought  to  have  heerd  it 
before,”  said  George.  “I  been  workin’  around  here 
most  twenty-five  yeahs.” 

An  Hour  or  So  Longer. 

General  manager — “ The  residents  of  Lonely ville 
have  petitioned  us  to  reduce  the  train  service  at  that 
point.  Rather  odd.” 

Superintendent — “Not  at  all.  They  simply  wish  to 
keep  their  servants  longer.” 


2.  But  just  then  their  auto  appeared,  which  queered  the  finish. 


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(IS — __ 


An  Everlasting  Contention 

The  Strange  Case  of  Katy-did  vs.  Katy-didn’t 

By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 


WISH  some  sage  or  philosophic  Cid, 

With  knowledge  of  the  facts,  or  some  invention. 
Would  tell  us  what  it  was  that  Katy  did 
That  causes  all  this  eventide  contention. 

It  must  have  been  some  very  awful  thing, 

Some  sorry  deed  of  wickedness  immortal, 

The  way  the  dame’s  posterity  doth  sing 
About  it  every  eve  around  my  portal. 


At  set  of  sun  th’  affirmatives  begin, 

Yet  bring  no  evidence  to  help  the  trial. 

Then  t’other  side  for  the  defense  puts  in 
A never-ending  chorus  of  denial. 

And  so  it  goes.  They  keep  it  up  all  night, 

All  thoughts  of  rest  or  hope  of  verdict  scorning, 
With  ne’er  an  end  of  any  kind  in  sight 

When  routed  from  the  forum  by  the  morning. 


It  seems  to  be  a foolish  sort  of  row. 

’Tis  sad  to  see  so  many  thousands  nettled, 
When  if  we  knew  the  charge,  perhaps,  somehow, 
It  might  be  compromised  or  wholly  settled. 
At  any  rate,  I’m  full  of  charity, 

And  all  the  howling  crowd  can  count  upon  it. 
Until  the  charge  and  proof  are  brought  to  me, 
I’ll  not  believe  that  Katy  really  done  it. 


1.  When  I was  just  a little  boy, 

As  active  as  a cat, 

The  word  that  always  blocked  my  joy 
Was,  “DON’T  do  that!” 

Old  Sleuth  Up  to  Date 

By  GORTON  CARRUTH 


1JIGHT  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  our  hero  lay, 
tightly  bound  across  the  track.  A few  yards  up 
the  hillside  was  his  sweetheart,  lashed  to  a tree.  Near 
by  stood  the  villain  Tarbox,  arms  folded,  a diabolical 
grin  on  his  face,  as  he  invited  the  helpless  girl  to  see 
the  destruction  of  her  lover.  What  could  save  him? 
Already  there  echoed  from  the  tunnel  the  roar  of  the 
express  train  as  it  thundered  down  the  mountain  slope 
toward  its  victim. 

“ Keep  up  your  courage,  dear,”  said  the  doomed  man 
calmly.  “ Providence  will  yet  provide  an  escape  from 
that  scoundrel’s  toils,  never  fear.” 

****** 

“Let’s  see,”  murmured  the  great  author  abstract- 
edly, as  he  paused  a moment  in  his  dictation.  “ How’s 
she  going  to  get  him  out  of  that  fix?  She  can’t  rush 
wildly  into  the  tunnel  and  flag  the  train  with  a sulphur 
match,  because  she’s  tied.  She  can’t  influence  the  vil- 
lain, because  his  is  a heart  of  stone.  The  engineer 
couldn’t  hear  her  piercing  shriek,  because  the  train  is 
in  a tunnel.  Her  faithful  hound  couldn’t  untie  him. 
She — ■ Oh,  I have  it!  Of  course,”  and  he  resumed  his 
dictation. 

****** 

Just  as  the  headlight  of  the  approaching  train  twin- 
kled into  view  far  up  the  subterranean  passage,  a sud- 
den, fierce  gust  of  wind  blew  down  the  mountain,  struck 
our  heroine’s  hat,  which  had  been  leaning  against  a tree, 
and  trundled  it  across  the  open  space  into  the  cavernous 
mouth  of  the  tunnel.  A moment  later  was  heard  a long, 
harsh,  grating  screech,  and  the  locomotive,  its  wheels 


tangled  and  locked  in  the  mammoth  ruins  *il  the  hat, 
came  to  a standstill  with  its  cow-catcher  j«st  touching 
our  hero’s  hair.  Men  descended  from  the  cab  and  re- 
leased him  and  the  girl,  while  the  wretch  Tarbox  dashed 
away  into  the  night,  shaking  his  clenched  fists  in  bitter 
anger  at  the  sky. 

“Thank  God!”  gasped  our  heroine  wildly,  as  she 
sank  fainting  into  her  lover’s  arms.  “ Thank  God  that 
I wore  my  Merry  Widow  instead  of  the  usual  wild  rose!” 

An  Encouraging  Conversation. 

<<  UOW’S  business?”  I asked  of  the  astronomical 

**  faker  on  Broadway. 

“ Looking  up,”  he  answered. 

“ Where’s  the  big  cop  who  used  to  be  here?”  I con- 
tinued. 

“ Taking  arrest,”  replied  the  faker. 

“ What  do  you  do  in  the  daytime  before  the  stars 
come  out?”  I asked. 

“ Same  as  I do  at  night,”  he  answered. 

“ What’s  that?”  I queried. 

“ The  public,”  he  replied. 

“ Well,  good-by,”  I said.  “ I was  going  to  ask  you 
to  have  a glass  of  beer,  but  I see  you’re  filled  to  the 
brim  with  tea,  and  beer  doesn’t  go  well  with” 

“ Me?  Full  of  tea?”  he  queried. 

“ Yes — repartee,”  said  I. 

And  that  is  why  we  no  longer  speak  as  we  pass  by. 

I^JOTHING  succeeds  like  success,  unless  some  one 
dies  and  leaves  it  to  you. 


Kinetic  Potentialities. 

By  GRAHAM  HAWLEY. 

H,  IGNORANT  people,  who  look  at  a baby 

As  though  it  was  senseless  and  imbecile  maybe. 
Who  smirk  with  your  silly,  superior  air, 

Who  gaze,  grin  and  giggle,  or  stupidly  stare, 

Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you — dolts  that  you  are — 

That  a child  may  surpass  both  its  pa  and  its  ma? 

Why,  it  may  be  the  tot  that  you  look  on  with  scorn 
Will  outrival  the  greatest  diplomatist  born, 

Invent  some  new  marvel,  produce  a new  plant. 

Or  philosophize  even  more  deeply  than  Kant. 

You  idiots  utter!  Who  knows  but  it  may 

Grow  in  power  or  wealth  and  command  you  some  day. 

Perchance  it’s  a Goethe,  a Wagner,  a Titian, 

A Csesar,  a Taft  (in  a pocket  edition), 

A Louis  Sixteenth,  Dumas,  Vergil,  or  Shelley, 

A Homer,  a Bryan,  a Marie  Corelli, 

A Morgan,  a Raphael,  a Henry  Navarre, 

An  Elizabeth,  Newton  or  Theodore  R. 

Then  worship  the  baby — ay,  fall  down  before  him — 
Revere  him,  respect  him,  and  mutely  adore  him. 

Who  knows  to  what  heights  he  may  some  time  aspire? 
Pope,  president,  admiral — ay,  and  still  higher. 

He  might  even  become,  were  the  fates  not  adverse, 

Like  the  gifted  young  scribe  of  this  masterful  verse! 

Cutting  Off  Supplies. 

Neighbor — “ I want  to  ask  if  you’d  mind  not  using 
that  worm  exterminator  you’ve  bought  for  your  garden.” 
Suburbanite — “ And  why  not,  pray?” 

Neighbor — “ Well,  you  see,  I’m  planning  to  keep 
chickens.” 

He  Came  Home. 

He — “ My  dear,  if  I’m  not  home  at  ten,  don’t  wait  for 
me.” 

She—' “No;  I’ll  go  for  you.” 


Rules  for  a Man  Who  Is  Contemplating 
Matrimony. 

PACTS  TO  ASCERTAIN  WHEN  MEETING  AN  AT- 
TRACTIVE YOUNG  WOMAN  WITH  WHOM 
YOU  MAY  FALL  IN  LOVE. 

¥ EARN  whether  she  is  selfish.  You  can  tell  this  in 
three  ways — by  the  manner  in  which  she  listens  to 
what  you  say,  by  the  way  she  accepts  what  you  do  for 
her,  and,  by  the  difference  between  the  way  she  treats 
you  and  the  way  she  treats  others. 

Is  she  fickle?  If  she  talks  about  light  things  she 
isn’t.  Deep,  she  is. 

Is  she  extravagant?  Study  the  way  in  which  she 
protests  against  your  spending  money  on  her  and  always 
arranges  matters  so  that  you  can’t  help  but  do  it. 

Is  she  a bad  housekeeper?  Watch  the  way  she 
dresses.  If  she  is  spic  and  span  she  isn’t.  If  she  isn’t 
then  she  is. 

THE  SOLUTION. 

When  you  have  satisfied  your  mind  that  she  is  all  of 
these  things  marry  her  at  once,  if  you  can  get  her,  for 
the  following  reasons: 

First,  because  if  she  really  loves  you  she  will  change. 

Second,  because  if  you  love  her  it  will  be  so  much 
more  interesting. 

Third,  because  you  are  probably  mistaken  about  her, 
anyway. 

A Great  Care. 

Celia — “ Her  hair  turned  perfectly  white  in  one 
night  from  trouble.” 

Delia — “ Really?  What  was  the  nature  of  the  trou- 
ble?” 

Celia — “ Chemical.” 


2.  But  by  the  time  I’ve  got  it  pat 

My  childhood  days  are  through, 
And  now  the  word  I’m  staring  at 
Is  Do  ! Do ! Do ! 


The  Sentimental  Song  as  It  Ought  To  Be 

By  JAMES  P.  ROME 


ONCE  again  we  are  surrounded  by  the  sentimental 
love  song.  It  is  a very  pleasing  article — some- 
times. But  it  hasn’t  got  the  quarter  of  a grain 
of  truth  in  it — no,  nor  even  the  tenth  of  a grain  of 
truth.  This  is  the  way  it  goes:  In  the  first  stanza  a 
big,  handsome  hero  journeys  to  the  country,  meets  a 
pretty  little  milkmaid,  and  falls  in  love  with  her. 
Then  in  the  chorus  he  departs,  promising  to  return  when 
the  cucumber  is  a pickle,  or  at  some  other  such  happy 
time.  Along  about  the  second  stanza  he  comes  back, 
only  to  find  that  the  little  milkmaid  (instead  of  the  cow, 
perhaps)  has  kicked  the  bucket.  He  visits  her  grave, 
sheds  a tear,  and — that  is  all!  Very,  very  pretty,  no 
doubt;  but,  as  we  said  before,  it’s  not  true.  In  order 
to  tear  away  the  veil  of  romance  and  display  the  true 
facts  in  the  case,  we  have  prepared  a genuine  country 
ballad — as  it  ought  to  be.  It  was  prepared  very  care- 
fully. It  is  called,  “ When  the  Wind  Sighs  through  the 
Whiskers  of  the  Corns.”  Music  by  the  Mowing 
Machine;  words  from  the  Dictionary.  This  is  it: 

Beneath  a weeping-willow  tree 
There  stood  a city  lad; 

His  head  and  hands  were  all  bound  up. 

His  face  was  pale  and  sad. 

For  he  had  come  to  the  country  three  days  ago  to  get  a 
breath  of  the  sweet,  violet-laden  air,  which  he  was 
told  would  be  floating  all  over  the  place  in  the 
greatest  of  plenty. 

But  instead  of  that  he  found  the  air  full  of  grass  seed, 
and  contracted  hay  fever;  and  then  he  fell  from  the 
farmhouse  roof  and  landed  in  a hive  of  bees,  which 
stung  him  badly  and  chased  him  into  the  horns  of  a 
near-by  cow. 

11 


And  now,  after  the  village  doctor  had  eased  his  blistered 
face  and  broken  arms,  he  stood  under  the  willow  tree, 
waiting  for  the  outgoing  train  which  left  at  ten- 
eighteen  or  twenty. 

And  by  his  side  stood  the  little  country  girl  whom  he 
had  come  so  many  weary  miles  to  see,  and  who  softly 
cried  as  he  put  the  tips  of  his  swollen  fingers  on  her 
shoulders  and  made  this  heart-rending  and  intensely 
solemn  vow : 

When  they  change  the  architecture  of  the  country; 
When  they  use  a brand  of  cows  that  have  no  horns; 

When  the  bees  have  lost  their  art, 

I’ll  return  to  you,  sweetheart, 

When  the  wind  sighs  through  the  whiskers  of  the  corns. 

Cornered. 

• , . ' . ■->  s 1 . 

Pa — “ Edith,  how  often  do  you  practice  on  the  piano 
when  I’m  away?” 

Edith — “ Every  day,  pa.” 

Pa — “ How  long  did  you  practice  yesterday?” 

Edith — “Four  hours.” 

Pa — “ And  to-day?” 

Edith — “ About  the  same.” 

Pa — “ Well,  I’m  glad  to  hear  you’re  so  regular. 
The  next  time  you  practice,  however,  be  sure  to  unlock 
the  piano.  I locked  it  last  week,  and  I’ve  been  carrying 
the  key  in  my  pocket  ever  since.  Here  it  is!” 


Summer  boarder — “You  wrote  me  that  mosquitoes 
were  nowhere  in  this  neighborhood.”  . 

Farmet — “ I reck’n  there’s  some  mistake,  pardner. 
I must  o’  writ  that  mosquitoes  were  now  here  in  the 
neighborhood. ” 


i 

The  Temagami  Brand 

By  ELLIOTT  FLOWER 


UST  why  a man  who  has  a tempo- 
rary interest  in  a private  car,  plen- 
tifully stocked  with  everything  that 
the  most  exacting  thirst  could 
crave,  should  want  to  buy  squirrel 
whiskey  is  difficult  to  understand, 
but  Corey  did  it.  He  explained 
afterward  that  he  merely  wished  to 
sample  the  Temagami  brand.  He 
did  not  have  to  explain  that  he 
found  it  strong.  Several  Indian 
guides,  to  whom  he  had  played  fairy  godfather  h’J 
dispensing  prohibited  fire  water,  showed  their  grati- 
tude by  enthusiastically  boosting  him  on  the  wrong 
train,  and  shortly  thereafter  the  complications  began. 

The  party  had  just  come  out  of  the  woods,  after  a 
week  of  fishing.  They  had  brushed  up  a little  at  the  inn, 
where  they  had  spent  the  previous  night,  but  the 
starched  shirt  and  the  high  collar  awaited  them  at  the 
car.  With  almost  feverish  haste  they  attired  them- 
selves in  the  best  they  had  with  them,  disposed  of  the 
highballs  the  porter  thoughtfully  provided,  and  sauntered 
out  to  reduce  the  visible  supply  of  mocassins,  baskets, 
and  other  samples  of  Indian  handiwork. 

Corey,  however,  had  other  ambitions.  The  highball 
that  the  porter  provided  was  the  highball  of  civilization, 
and  Corey  was  of  the  opinion  that  the  trip  would  not  be 
a complete  success  unless  he  sampled  the  drink  of  the 
Temagami  Forest  Reserve,  which,  being  contraband,  is 


of  the  nature  of  a high  explosive.  He  was  encouraged 
in  this  laudable  purpose  by  the  thirsty  look  of  one  of  the 
guides.  The  Indian,  having  just  been  paid  for  his  serv- 
ices, probably  had  more  money  than  Corey,  but  he  was 
not  averse  to  letting  the  white  man  buy  as  much  as  he 
would — in  fact,  being  of  an  accommodating  disposition, 
he  no  sooner  discovered  what  was  desired  than  he  went 
to  the  trouble  of  showing  just  where  it  could  be  pur- 
chased. Then  he  further  showed  his  obliging  nature  by 
providing  excuses  for  additional  libations. 

“ My  brother,”  he  grunted,  “ him  thirsty.” 

“ Bring  him  in,”  said  Corey  generously. 

So  there  was  another  drink,  after  which  the  guide 
remembered  that  'he  had  a thirsty  cousin.  Corey  de- 
clared later  that  this  guide  was  related  to  every  Indian 
within  a mile  of  Temagami  station.  Anyhow,  he  pro- 
duced an  amazing  number  of  relations,  one  at  a time, 
and  the  festivities  continued  until  a locomotive  whistled, 
which  reminded  Corey  that  the  private  car  was  to  be 
picked  up  by  the  three-twenty  train  south.  Having  lost 
track  of  time  in  the  excitement  of  the  proceedings,  he 
now  led  the  friendly  red  men  in  a rapid  advance  on  the 
depot,  and  was  there  assisted  to  the  rear  platform  of  the 
twelve-ten  train  north,  where  he  stood  and  blew  kisses 
to  the  dark-brown  bunch  until  a curve  shut  them  from 
view. 

Meanwhile,  the  other  members  of  the  party  had  re- 
duced their  cash  surplus  by  the  purchase  of  souvenirs 
for  the  friends  at  home,  and  now  returned  to  the  car  for 


QUOITS  A LA  SOLITAIRE. 

An  elf  in  ruff  and  fuzzy  cloak  sat  deep  within  the  brake, 
A-blowing  rings  of  woolly  smoke  upon  a wooden  stake. 


luncheon.  Small,  otherwise  known  as  High  Henry  be- 
cause his  name  was  such  a libel  on  his  perpendicular 
proportions,  was  the  first  to  note  the  absence  of  Corey. 

“ Has  anybody  seen  him?”  he  asked. 

Douglas,  whose  good  fortune  in  holding  four  of  a 
kind  on  a certain  notable  occasion  in  camp  had  given 
him  the  name  of  the  Timber  Wolf,  recalled  having  seen 
him  in  earnest  and  almost  affectionate  conversation  with 
an  Indian  an  hour  or  so  before. 

“Squirrel  whiskey,”  announced  Cy  Moose,  and  the 
fact  that  this  man  had  acquired  his  temporary  name  by 
telling  a most  extraordinary  tale  of  the  friendly  rela- 
tions he  had  established  with  a certain  moose  gave  great 
weight  to  his  views  on  everything  in  the  Temagami  dis- 
trict. It  was  decided,  therefore,  that  squirrel  whiskey 
must  be  the  explanation.  “ In  its  ability  to  elevate  a 
man  quickly,”  added  Cy  Moose,  “ it  can  give  points  to 
a balloon.” 

“I  infer,”  commented  Kisman,  “that  you  speak 
from  experience.” 

This  was  held  to  be  irrelevant,  and  Nick  Carter  was 
ordered  to  make  such  an  investigation  as  only  a de- 
tective of  that  inspiring  name  could  make.  He  reported 


WHEN  CAT  MEETS  CAT. 

Mrs.  Diggs — “ I hear  you  have  been  talking  about  me.” 
Mrs.  Cutting — “ Madam,  you  flatter  ^ourself.” 


Curly  locks,  curly  locks, 
Wilt  thou  be  mine? 
Yes  ; this  is  bargain  day — 


promptly  that  a twelve-foot  trail  was  none  too  wide  for 
the  Indians  he  saw,  and  that  they  all  declared  the  white 
man  had  caught  his  train. 

“ The  twelve-ten  train  north!”  exclaimed  Carton,  the 
pilot  of  the  party.  “ We  must  head  him  off.” 

At  this  point  the  Pilot  took  entire  charge,  ignoring 
the  brilliant  suggestion  that  the  whole  party  start  in 
pursuit  on  a handcar,  and  arrangements  were  made  to 
get  a telegram  to  the  conductor  at  Rib  Lake,  the  first 
stop.  The  message  was  prepared  with  great  care,  of 
course.  It  was  necessary  that  the  conductor  should  be 
able  to  identify  the  wanderer,  and  High  Henry  was  sure 
he  could  write  a message  that  would  make  identification 
easy;  bqt  Cy  Moose  argued  that  it  would  be  a breach  of 
etiquette  to  say  anything  about  the  squirrel  whiskey. 
The  Pilot  was  of  the  same  opinion,  and  the  telegram  he 
wrote  merely  stated  that  the  erring  one  had  taken  the 
Cobalt  train  by  mistake,  and  asked  the  conductor  to 
ship  him  back  when  they  passed  the  down  train  at 
Latchford.  It  was  a masterly  effort  to  avoid  distress- 
ing detail.  But  the  conductor  was  a man  of  worldly 
wisdom,  and  he  understood.  From  Rib  Lake  he  sent 
this  reply : 

“ Twelve  men  in  that  condition  on  train.  Will  try 
to  pick  out  yours  between  here  and  Latchford.” 

There  was  nothing  very  reassuring  in  this,  but  the 
porter  thoughtfully  provided  that  which  enabled  the 
party  to  await  the  outcome  with  reasonable  patience. 

“He’ll  come  back  on  the  train  that  picks  us  up,” 
remarked  the  Pilot. 


“That,”  said  the  Timber  Wolf,  “ simplifies  matters 
greatly.  He  won’t  have  to  get  off  the  train.” 

“If  he  comes  back,”  added  Kisman  solemnly.  “I 
think  he  wants  to  be  left,  and  I don’t  blame  him.  There 
were  too  many  of  us  in  camp  to  get  the  most  artistic 
results.” 

“ What  do  you  mean?”  asked  the  Pilot. 

“ Why,  it’s  the  man  who  fishes  alone  who  catches  the 
biggest  fish-story,”  explained  Kisman.  “A  fellow  is 
handicapped  when  there  are  people  on  hand  to  demand 
proof.  If  he  could  lay  over  here  another  twenty-four 
hours  he’d  have  us  all  beaten.” 

Some  of  those  who  had  made  exceptional  records 
with  the  rod  and  reel,  not  counting  “ the  big  ones  that 
got  away,”  began  to  look  worried,  but  the  Pilot  came 
to  the  rescue.  “ That  conductor  will  get  him,”  he  de- 
clared. “ No  need  to  worry ; he’ll  be  down  on  the  three- 
twenty.” 

And  justification  of  his  faith  in 
the  conductor  soon  came  in  the 
shape  of  the  following  telegram 
from  Latchford : 

“ Shipped  your  man  back  on 
No.  3.” 

All  breathed  easier  after  the  re- 
ceipt of  this  message.  They  might 
joke  about  Corey’s  mistake — they 
would  joke  about  anything— but 
the  possibility  of  having  to  leave 
a member  of  the  party  behind  had 
been  decidedly  worrying.  Now, 
however,  they  could  give  their  at- 
tention to  devising  a suitable  wel- 
come for  the  stray.  A man  may 
not  do  what  Corey  did  and  escape 
the  penalty.  It  was  decided,  there- 
fore, that  the  whole  party  should 
line  up  on  the  station  platform  and 
give  the  Wah-sak-si-na-gama  yell 
when  the  train  came  in,  after  which 
a guard  of  three  should  take 
charge  of  the  victim  and  make 
ostentatious  provision  to  prevent 
another  escape.  Mr.  Pickwick,  so- 
called  because  of  his  resemblance 
to  that  famous  character,  tried  to 
persuade  the  others  that  this  would 
be  unkind,  but,  failing,  accepted 
the  situation  in  good  part  and 
smiled  with  benign  tolerance  on 
their  enthusiastic  preparations. 

The  guard  boarded  the  train  as 
it  pulled  in  and  the  others  drew 
up  in  line  and  gave  the  yell. 

There  was  some  regret  that  the  In- 
dian delegation  was  not  on  hand 
to  add  to  the  enthusiasm,  but  they 
really  were  not  needed.  The  Wah- 
sak-si-na-gama  yell,  ending  with 
something  that  probably  resembled 
the  cry  of  a moose  in  great  agony, 


brought  people  on  the  run  from  all  directions;  indeed, 
it  did  everything  except  bring  Corey.  Other  passen- 
gers rushed  to  the  windows,  but  the  beaming  face  of 
the  man  who  sampled  the  Temagami  brand  was  sought 
in  vain.  One  of  the  Corey  guards  appeared  for  a mo- 
ment, gesticulating  frantically,  and  then  the  train 
moved  down  to  a switch  with  the  evident  purpose  of 
picking  up  the  private  car. 

“It’s  all  right,”  announced  Mr.  Pickwick,  allowing 
his  genial  and  confident  smile  to  circle  the  group; 
“ they’re  trying  to  signal  us  that  they  will  keep  him 
aboard  until  our  car  is  coupled  on.  It’s  very  wise,  I 
think.” 

They  hurried  to  the  car,  and  the  train  presently 
backed  up  to  it.  The  three  Corey  guards  were  then 
on  the  back  platform  having  a warm  argument  with  a 
brakeman,  while  a stranger  leaned  wearily  against 

k 


m 

1 

\ \ 

A NATURAL  INQUIRY. 

She — “ The  man  I marry  must  be  handsome,  witty,  cultivated,  courteous,  kindly, 
considerate,  and,  above  all,  of  high  moral  character.” 

He — “ In  view  of  the  fact  that  this  is  leap  year,  I find  myself  constrained  to  ask 
you  if  I am  to  regard  your  words  in  the  light  oi  a proposal  ?” 


*he  railing.  Old  Pomposs  (an  abbreviation  for  Old 
Pomposity)  seemed  to  be  carrying  the  brunt  of  the 
argument. 

“ This,”  the  waiting  party  heard  Old  Pomposs  say, 
**  is  a great  mistake.  I guess  you  don’t  know  who  we 
are.” 

“ No,”  retorted  the  brakeman,  “ and  I don’t  give  a 
hoot.  You  telegraphed  for  a drunk,  and  here  he  is.” 

“I  don’t  care  to  bandy  words  with  you,”  said  Old 
Pomposs  severely.  “ He’s  not  one  of  our  party.” 


SUCH  A GOOD  BOY. 

Willie — “ Huh  ! you  always  read  about  good  little  boys.  Anyway,  1 never  make  any 
noise  running  down-stairs  like  other  fellows.” 

Sister — “ Pooh  ! That  isn’t  true.” 

Willie — “ It  is  so.  I always  slide  down  the  banister.” 


“These  are  the  men  who  sent  for  you,  ” explained 
the  brakeman,  now  busy  connecting  the  air-brakea. 
“ They  want  you  on  their  car.”  The  stranger  turned  to 
the  car  with  every  evidence  of  approval,  while  Old 
Pomposs  turned  to  the  brakeman  with  every  evidence  of 
disapproval.  “ You  can’t  refuse  goods  that  you  ordered 
shipped — not  on  this  road,”  the  brakeman  added  de- 
fensively. “ You  sent  for  him,  and  you  got  him.” 
“Looks  good  to  me,”  commented  the  stranger. 
“It’s  better ’n  a mere  prospect  at  Cobalt.”  He  began 


“Can’t  help  that,”  declared  the  brakeman;  “my 
orders  is  to  deliver  him  to  you,  and  that  settles  it.  I 
don’t  see  what  you’re  kickin’  about,  anyhow.  I’ll  bet 
I’m  givin’  you  a better  drunk  than  the  one  you  lost. 
This  one’s  a peach.” 

Just  then  the  train  bumped  the  waiting  car,  and  the 
stranger  was  jarred  into  a sudden  interest  in  the  pro- 
ceedings. 

“What’s  doin’?”  he  inquired,  as  he  steadied  him- 
self by  gripping  the  railing  with  both  hands. 


aiming  himself  for  the  private  car.  While  his  articula- 
tion was  fairly  good,  his  legs  were  so  unsteady  that  he 
had  to  head  himself  in  the  right  direction  with  great 
care  before  abandoning  his  hold  on  the  railing.  Old 
Pomposs,  divining  his  intention,  barred  the  way ; there- 
upon the  stranger  merrily  prodded  him  in  the  most  in- 
flated spot.  “That’s  all  right,  old  cock!”  he  said,  as 
Old  Pomposs  doubled  up  suddenly;  “ no  harm  done,  only 
don’t  bother  me.”  Then,  his  progress  being  unimpeded, 
he  entered  the  car  and  sank  contentedly  into  a seat. 


“There’s  a private  party  aboard,”  explained  the 
porter. 

“That’s  me!”  said  the  stranger.  “Bring  me  a 
Scotch  highball.” 

“ You  don’t  belong,”  argued  the  porter. 

“ Who  says  so?”  demanded  the  stranger.  “ Wasn’t 
I put  here  by  the  road?  Ain’t  this  a Temiskaming  and 
Northern  Ontario  car,  an’  didn’t” 

“No,  it  ain’t,”  interrupted  the  porter.  “It’s  a 
Grand  Trunk  car.” 

“No  matter,”  said  the  stranger  in  an  offhand  way. 
“ I got  some  road’s  word  for  it  that  this  is  mine.” 

The  Pilot  signaled  the  porter  to  come  away,  and 
there  was  a hasty  consultation  as  to  the  best  method  of 
procedure.  High  Henry  thought  Mr.  Pickwick,  who 
combined  dignity  with  urbanity,  was  the  man  to  make 
the  stranger  see  the  error  of  his  ways ; Cy  Moose 
thought  the  Pilot  was  the  man  for  the  job ; Kisman  sug- 
gested that  it  would  be  a simple  matter  for  the  Timber 
Wolf  to  deal  him  a few  hands  at  poker  that  would  be 
discouraging,  and  the  matter  was  still  unsettled  when 
the  train  pulled  out.  That  brought  the  accommodating 
Mr.  Pickwick  to  the  front,  ever  ready  to  sacrifice  him- 
self for  the  general  welfare. 

“Gentlemen,”  he  said,  “this  unfortunate  tangle 
must  be  straightened  out  before  we  reach  the  next  sta- 
tion, so  that  we  may  get  our  unwelcome  guest  again 
headed  in  the  direction  of  Cobalt.  As  no  one  else  cares 
to  make  the  necessary  explanation,  I will  talk  to  him.” 

Saying  this,  Mr.  Pickwick  advanced  fearlessly  and 
seated  himself  beside  the  stranger. 


The  rest  of  the  party,  heretofore  watching  from  the 
side  lines,  now  hastily  scrambled  to  the  platform  and 
gave  Old  Pomposs  first  aid  to  the  injured,  after  which 
they  advanced  on  the  intruder  in  a body.  The  porter 
was  then  arguing  with  him. 

“ This  is  a private  car,”  said  the  porter. 

“ Sure!”  returned  the  stranger.  “ What  you  got  to 
drink?” 


Some  folks  like  initials  on  rings, 
Ties,  suit  cases — even  shoe-strings  ; 
But  should  your  full  name 
Be  Anton  Saul  Sayme, 

You’d  not  care  for  initials  on  things. 


“I 


THE  ELOPEMENT  CINCHED. 

Miss  Lakeduoeller — “ Oh,  sweetheart!  supposing  my  father  should  overtake  us  ?’’  . 

Sammy  Stoneax — “ Don’t  worry,  my  dear  little  dinosaur.  He  can  never  catch  up  with  this  light  racing  shell. 


SHARP  FOLK. 


“ What  set  do  the  Joneses  go  in  ?’’ 

“The  carving  set,  I should  say,  judging  by  the  way  they  knife  each  other.’’ 


“ Where’s  that  Scotch  highball?”  was  the  question 
that  greeted  him. 

“My  friend,”  said  Mr.  Pickwick  affably,  ignoring 
the  query,  “ there  has  been  a mistake  ” 

“That’s  all  right,”  interrupted  the  stranger;  “I 
ain’t  kickin’.  I only  had  a prospect  at  Cobalt,  and  I'd 
trade  it  for  a line  of  Scotch  highballs  from  here  to 
Toronto,  any  day.  You  got  Scotch  on  the  car,  ain’t  you?” 

“You  don’t  understand,”  explained  Mr.  Pickwick. 
“ This  is  a private  car,  and  we  shall  have  to  drop  you  at 
the  next  stop.  ” 

“ Not  me!  ” said  the  stranger. 

“ Yes,  you,”  insisted  Mr.  Pickwick  firmly. 

“ Not  me!”  repeated  the  stranger.  “ You  can’t  drop 

_ y y 

me. 

“ Why  not?”  asked  Mr.  Pickwick  in  surprise. 

“I’m  the  package  you  ordered,”  was  the  confident 
reply.  “ I didn’t  want  to  come. ” 

“ But  it  was  a mistake,”  urged  Mr.  Pickwick. 

“ That  ain’t  my  fault,  is  it?”  retorted  the  stranger. 
“ You  don’t  deny  you  telegraphed  for  me,  do  you?” 
v “ Not  for  you,”  insisted  Mr.  Pickwick. 

“ Well,  I was  delivered  on  your  order,”  declared  the 
stranger,  “ an’ you  got  to  take  the  responsibility.  Why, 
look  at  it  sensible:  here  was  me,  sleeping  peaceful,  an’ 
the  conductor  wakes  me  up.  ‘ You’re  wanted  back  at 
Temagami,’  says  he.  ‘Not  me,’  says  I.  ‘You  come 
from  there,  didn’t  you?’  says  he.  ‘ That  was  my  last 
stop,’  says  I.  ‘Well,  there’s  a private-car  party  back 
there  that  wants  you,’  says  he.  ‘ That’s  a nice  dream,’ 
says  I.  ‘They’re  telegraphin’  for  you,’ says  he,  ‘an’ 
you  got  to  go.’  I don’t  have  any  say  about  it  at  all;  he 
turns  me-over  to  the  brakeman  on  the  down  train,  an’ 


I’m  delivered  to  you.  Now,  you  don’t  think  I’m  going 
to  be  turned  down  like  a bale  of  damaged  goods,  do  you? 
You  sent  for  me,  an’  you  got  to  look  out  for  me. 
Where’s  that  porter?” 

Mr.  Pickwick  returned  thoughtfully  to  the  party  at 
the  table  in  the  center  of  the  car. 

“ Gentlemen,”  he  reported,  “ I fear  this  stranger  has 
us  at  a disadvantage.  He  was  ruthlessly  torn  from  his 
business  and  shipped  back  to  us  on  our  telegraphic 
order.  More  [than  that,  as  a result  of  our  action  he  is 
now  being  rapidly  carried  away  from  his  business  inter- 
ests, and,  as  he  truthfully  points  out,  the  fact  that  a re- 
grettable error  was  made  is  no  fault  of  his.  While  we 
cannot  be  held  to  blame  for  the  misguided  zeal  of  the 
conductor,  I cannot  help  thinking  that  some  moral  re- 
sponsibility attaches  to  us.  What  are  we  going  to  do 
about  it?” 

This  point  of  view  was  so  reasonable,  and  the  ques- 
tion so  troublesome,  that  deep  gloom  settled  on  the 
whole  party,  and  the  silence  was  broken  only  when  the 
stranger  discovered  the  bell-button  and  pressed  it  long 
and  earnestly  in  the  hope  of  getting  that  delayed  high- 
ball. ThenRapid-Fire  Palmer  added  to  the  gloom  by  mak- 
ing some  remarks  that,  when  untangled,  were  found  to 
refer  to  the  depressing  fact  that  Corey  was  still  missing. 

“ I’ll  telegraph  from  Redwater  to  every  station  be- 
tween Temagami  and  Cobalt,”  announced  the  Pilot. 
“We  must  locate  him  and  see  that  he  gets  the  next 
train  south.  ” 

“Without  meeting  any  more  Indians,”  added  Cy 
Moose. 

“Meanwhile,”  suggested  Mr.  Pickwick,  “what  are 
we  going  to  do  about  our  inebriated  guest?” 


/ Tuitu.  ^ 

A FAIR  ARGUMENT. 


Fatherly  clergyman  ( surprising  young  parishioner  in  curl-papers) — “Why  don’t  you 
leave  your  hair  as  it  was  meant  to  be,  my  child  ? If  Nature  had  wanted  your  hair  to  curl' 
she  would  have  curled  it  for  you.’’ 

Offended  young  lady — “ When  I was  a little  girl  she  did,  sir  ; but  I suppose  she  now 
thinks  I am  quite  old  enough  to  do  it  for  myself.” 


“ Perhaps  he  might  consent  to  leave  us  for  a con- 
sideration,” ventured  Kisman.  “We  might  ask  his 
terms.” 

There  being  no  overwhelming  desire  for  the  stranger’s 
company  to  Toronto,  it  was  decided  to  give  this  plan  a 
trial ; and  Mr.  Pickwick,  supported  by  his  friends  in  this 
desperate  emergency,  returned  to  the  place  where  the 
thirsty  one  was  still  industriously  pressing  the  bell- 
button. 

“My  friend,”  explained  Mr.  Pickwick,  “while  we 
disclaim  any  direct  responsibility,  we  realize  that  our 
effort  to  reclaim  an  erring  member  of  our  party  has  put 

you  to  considerable  inconvenience,  and  we  ” 

“ What’s  the  matter  with  the  porter?”  interrupted 
the  stranger. 

“ As  you  are  not  a member  of  the  party  ” 

“I  ain’t!”  exclaimed  the  stranger.  “ Why  ain’t  I? 
Didn’t  you  send  for  me?” 

“ Oh,  he’s  got  us!”  groaned  Cy  Moose. 


“Let  us  pass  that,”  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  with  quiet 
dignity.  “ We  are  now  merely  anxious  to  s^e  if  we 
cannot  reach  some  amicable  agreement  that  will  restore 
the  status  quo.” 

“ What’s  that?”  asked  the  stranger. 

“ The  condition  of  affairs  that  existed  before  you 
joined  us,”  explained  Mr.  Pickwick. 

“ Oh,  you  want  me  to  get  out!” 

“ We  fear  your  business  will  suffer  during  your 
absence.” 

“Back  to  the  mine  for  you!”  put  in  High  Henry, 
who  feared  the  diplomatic  language  of  Mr.  Pickwick 
did  not  make  the  situation  clear.  “ How  much  do  you 
want?” 

The  magic  of  these  words  brought  a smile  of  com- 
prehension to  the  face  of  the  stranger.  “ You  pulled 
me  away  from  my  mine,”  he  said. 

“ It  was  due  to  an  unfortunate  misunderstanding,  ” 
Mr.  Pickwick  maintained;  “but  it  is  unquestionably 


A DRAWING  ROOM. 


true  that  we  are  the  indirect  cause  of  your  present  pre- 
dicament, and  we  are  ready  to  make  suitable  repara- 
tion.” 

“ All  right,”  agreed  the  stranger.  “I’ll  trade  the 
mine  for  the  car,  and  you  go  back  at  the  next  stop.” 
The  Pilot  gasped,  and  there  were  some  indications  of 
heart  failure  by  others  of  the  party. 

“ This  suits  me,”  added  the  stranger.  “ This  is  the 
real  thing,  and  the  mine’s  only  a prospect.  You  may 
win  big,  but  you  ain’t  sure  of  anything.  How  about  it?” 
Mr.  Pickwick,  still  serene,  explained  courteously  that 
the  members  of  the  party,  having  business  or  pro- 
fessional interests  at  home,  were  quite  unable  to  make 
any  such  sudden  change  of  plan. 

“Guess  again!”  High  Henry  put  in.  “You  hit  the 
wrong  combination  that  time.” 

“ This  looks  pretty  good  to  me,”  persisted  the  stran- 
ger; “ only  the  service  is  bum.  I’ll  bet  I’ve  rung  for 
that  highball  fifty  times.”  Having  thus  recalled  him- 
self to  the  particular  business  of  the  moment,  he  began 
ringing  again. 


Old  Pomposs  here  suggested  that  the  stranger  over- 
looked the  rather  important  fact  that  he  was  neither  the 
owner  nor  the  lessee.of  the  car ; whereupon  the  stranger, 
remembering  his  previous  encounter  with  Old  Pomposs, 
made  a jab  at  the  middle  button  of  the  latter’s  vest 
that  induced  a precipitate  retreat. 

“ It  ain’t  my  fault,”  the  stranger  argued,  when  his 
victim  had  backed  out  of  range.  “ I made  a fair  offer 
for  it.  You  got  me  here,  and  now  it’s  up  to  you  to  do 
something  besides  worry  me  to  death.  I’ll  bet  I wouldn’t 
treat  you  so  mean  if  you  was  on  my  car.” 

“I  think,”  said  High  Henry,  “he’s  entitled  to  his 
drink.” 

“Judging  from  appearances,”  objected  Mr.  Pick- 
wick, “ I think  he’s  had  it.” 

“All  fixed!”  cried  the  stranger,  in  sudden  triumph. 
“ I got  it  now.” 

The  members  of  the  party,  much,  relieved,  gathered 
closer,  and  he  was  urged  to  explain. 

“ You  buy  the  mine,”  he  said,  “ and  I’ll  hire  anoth- 
er car — What’s  the  matter?”  For  Mr.  Pickwick, 


“You  don’t  seem  to  realize  I’m  delicate, 
dnd  this  housework  is  simply  using  me  up. 
It  will  kill  me.” 


IT  ALL  DEPENDS. 

But  to  prepare  and  do  all  the  cooking  to  entertain  a lot  of  lady 
friends  about  twice  a week  is  mere  pleasure. 


LITTLE  DANGER. 

“Squire  Jones  had  anuddah  valuable  hoss  stole  las’  night.” 

“ Fo’  de  lan’l  ef  dat  sort  ob  t’ing  gwine  ter  keep  up,  hit’s  time  I’s  gittin’  a new  lock  on  mah  bahn  do’.” 


discouraged  and  disgusted,  was  leading  his  friends  aside 
for  another  conference.  “ I got  to  sell  the  mine  or  I 
can’t  afford  a car.  It  looks  to  me  like  you  fellows  want 
all  the  best  of  it.” 

This  resentful  criticism  was  ignored,  and  he  was  left 
to  his  own  devices  while  new  plans  were  discussed.  Cy 
Moose  was  of  the  opinion  that  the  whole  affair  had  now 
resolved  itself  into  a job  for  High  Henry,  to  which  the 
latter  entered  prompt  and  vigorous  objection.  “ But  at 
that,”  he  added,  “ I could  not  make  a worse  failure  of  it 
than  those  who  have  already  tried.”  Mr.  Pickwick 
thought  he  detected  a slur  in  this,  so,  by  way  of  revenge, 
he  came  to  the  support  of  Cy  Moose.  “I  should  judge,” 
said  he,  with  calm  dignity,  “ that  there  is  a natural  bond 
of  sympathy  between  High  Henry  and  the  inebriated 
stranger  that  would  make  it  easy  for  them  to  understand 
each  other  and  reach  a satisfactory  agreement,  and 
I move  that  our  elongated  companion  be  appointed  a 
committee  of  one  to  solve  the  problem  that  now  con- 
fronts us.”  Cy  Moose  and  the  Timber  Wolf  seconded 
the  motion,  the  Pilot  put  it,  and  High  Henry  was  elected 
before  he  had  time  to  protest. 

The  look  that  the  committee  gave  the  others  was 
disquieting,  but  he  accepted  the  commission,  declaring 
that  a man  of  the  world  might  understand  wayward 
strangers  without  having  anything  in  common  with 
them.  Two  minutes  later  he  was  in  animated  conversa- 
tion with  the  unwelcome  guest,  and  in  less  than  five 
minutes  his  voice  was  raised  in  a vociferous  cry  to  the 
porter  to  bring  that  long-sought  highball  and  another 
with  it. 

“This  won’t  do!”  protested  Mr.  Pickwick,  much 
worried.  “ We  can’t  get  rid  of  him  that  way.  ” 

“ The  committee  is  trying  to  get  even  with  us,”  de- 
clared Kisman.  “ I’ll  bet  he  sells  him  the  car.” 

Several  advanced,  with  a view  to  bringing  High 
Henry  to  a conception  of  his  error;  but  he  waved  them 
away,  and,  at  a nod  from  the  Pilot,  the  highballs  were 


brought.  Then  two  more  were  ordered.  Cy  Moose  now 
voiced  the  general  protest,  to  which  High  Henry  re- 
sponded, “ We’re  all  right;  let  us  alone.” 

“ But  this  is  no  joke,”  argued  Cy  Moose. 

“You  bet  it  isn’t!”  replied  High  Henry;  and  he 
turned  to  the  stranger  with  a facetious  remark  that 
brought  roars  of  laughter  from  that  individual.  They 
were  chums  already,  and,  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of 
High  Henry,  the  stranger  sang  a sentimental  ballad  in  a 
way  that  made  the  windows  rattle. 


How  sad  to  me  heart  are  de  dreams  uv  me  “ pug  years,” 
When  past  recollection  presents  dem  to  view  ; 

De  “ upper,  ” de  “left-hook,”  “ de  knock-out,”  de  loud  cheers, 
An’  after  each  battle  de  “ put-up  job,”  too. 

De  long-reachin’  arm  an’  de  guy  wot  behind  it 
Was  hittin’  me  swipes  in  de  ribs  wid  his  paw, 

He  poked  me  a beauty — ah,  still  I remind  it ! — 

It  makin’  me  wisht  to  be  home  wid  me  “maw.’’ 

Dose  big,  heavy  mittens,  dose  iron-stuffed  mittens, 

Dose  fast-flyin’  mittens  dat  pounded  me  jaw. 


The  others  were  now  as  anxious  to  recall  High 
Henry’s  commission  as  they  had  been  to  give  it  to  him, 
but  there  was  no  satisfactory  way  of  doing  it;  he  was 
in  complete  control  of  the  situation.  The  Pilot  even 
ruled  that  it  would  be  rank  discourtesy  to  ignore  his 
orders  for  drinks.  Still,  this  matter  of  courtesy  was 
pretty  severely  tested  when  he  ordered  a full  bottle  of 
Scotch.  The  Pilot  managed  to  retain  his  characteristic 
British  calmness,  but  the  others  were  becoming  nervous 
and  excited. 

High  Henry  presented  the  bottle  to  the  stranger,  and 
the  stranger  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  insisting 
that  he  was  the  finest  gentleman  he  ever  had  met.  Then, 
as  the  train  drew  into  Iiedwater,  the  stranger  again  fer- 
vently wrung  High  Henry’s  hand,  after  which  he  per- 
mitted the  porter  to  assist  him  to  the  platform. 

“ How  did  you  do  it?”  was  the  general  query. 

“Easy  enough,”  answered  High  Henry,  with  par- 
donable pride.  “ I bought  him  off  with  a bottle  of 
Scotch,  and  he  was  even  willing  to  throw  in  the  mine. 
But  I wouldn’t  take  it.” 

“ Such  wisdom!”  exclaimed  Cy  Moose. 

“ I was  only  afraid,”  said  High  Henry,  “ that  he’d 
force  the  mine  on  me.” 

“ It  was  a narrow  escape,”  declared  the  Pilot.  “ Now 
we  must  see  what  we  can  do  about  Corey.” 

Just  then  Nick  Carter,  the  mysterious,  who  had  been 
following  a thinking-machine  clew  of  his  own,  appeared 
at  the  door  of  the  car  ahead. 

“ S-sh!”  said  Nick  Carter.  “ Corey  is  asleep  in  the 
smoker.  He  shipped  himself  back  from  Rib  Lake,  but 
forgot  to  deliver  himself  to  us  at  Temagami.” 

High  Henry  and  Nick  Carter  each  received  a vote  of 
thanks,  and  the  incident  was  closed. 


Why  He  Was  Bad. 

By  L.  S.  WATERHOUSE. 

WHEN  I was  a lad  I wasn’t  so  bad 

But  what  I could  have  been  worse; 

But  if  I’d  been  good  the  dear  public  would 
Just  now  be  deprived  of  this  verse. 

You  savey  by  this — good  children  we  miss — 

They  all  kick  the  bucket,  I’m  told; 

But  I as  a kid  did  just  as  I did 
Because  I desired  to  grow  old. 

I couldn’t  just  see  what  good  ’twas  to  me 
To  turn  up  my  toes  to  the  sod, 

So  I did,  it  is  true,  what  most  all  bad  boys  do 
If  they  don’t  want  to  hustle  to  God. 

I sassed  my  dear  ma  and  I cussed  dear  papa 
And  I punched  sister  Jane  in  the  eye; 

I made  of  my  teacher  a principal  feature 
In  keeping  me  out  of  the  sky. 

I fastened  tin  pails  to  the  yaller  purps’  tails 
And  chased  the  old  rooster  about; 

I chucked  stones  at  the  cat,  but  I only  did  that 
In  order  that  wings  should  not  sprout. 

I made  faces  at  girls  and  I pulled  all  their  curls 
And  I boxed  baby  Sis  on  the  ear; 

I did  all  my  lying  to  keep  me  from  dying — 

And  that’s  how  I come  to  be  here. 

No  Demand. 

Motorist  (entering  country  store) — “ I don’t  suppose 
you  keep  sparking-plugs  in  stock?” 

Storekeeper — “ You  s’pose  kerrect,  mister.  If  any 
uv  the  boys  ’round  these  parts  ever  wore  plugs  when 
they  went  sparkin’  they’d  be  joshed  clear  crazy,  I’ll 
wager  !” 


PHRASE  FROM  MELODRAMATIC  FICTION. 


"Pursued  by  unnamable  horrors!” 


i 


The  Unwritten  Law 

By  H.  K.  EBERT 


THE  PLAINTIFF  looked  as  if  he  had  been  to  a 
Polish  wedding.  One  eye  was  closed  and  the 
other  peered  furtively  through  half-open  lids. 
His  nose  was  out  of  plumb,  and  when  he  opened  his 
mouth  it  could  be  seen  that  his  teeth  had  been  tam- 
pered with.  One  arm  was  in  a sling,  and  he  smelled 
* like  a dispensary. 

The  defendant  was  a well-dressed  man  of  middle  age 
and  peaceable  mien.  Once  or  twice  he  glanced  at  the 
plaintiff,  and  a gleam  of  unholy  joy  lighted  his  face; 
but  he  did  not  look  like  a fighting  man. 

“I  caught  him  in  the  act,  yer  honor,”  testified  the 
policeman  who  had  made  the  arrest.  “ This  here  chap,” 
indicating  the  defendant,  “ was  beatin’  the  neck  off  the 
other  fellow.” 

“ What  have  you  to  say?”  asked  the  magistrate  of 
the  plaintiff. 

“ It  was  an  unprovoked  assault,”  said  the  man  thus 
addressed.  “ I met  Mr.  Brown  on  the  street  and  passed 
the  time  of  day.  Without  a word  of  warning  he  at- 
tacked me.” 

The  magistrate  turned  to  the  defendant,  who  at  the 
words  “unprovoked  assault”  had  glared  at  his  accuser, 
and  thundered,  “ What  have  you  to  say?” 

The  defendant  cleared  his  throat  and  began  in  a mild 
tone. 

“I  have  been  suffering  with  a cold  recently,”  he 
said,  “ and  have  been  afraid  to  take  off  my  heavy  under- 
wear. My  wife  put  a poultice  on  my  chest  this  morn- 
ing, and,  fearing  a thunder  shower,  she  made  me  wear 
my  overshoes.  I came  down-town  on  the  sunny  side  of 
the  car  with  the  window  closed.” 

The  magistrate  loosened  his  collar  and  reached  for  a 
fan. 


“I  had  a telephone  call  to  make,”  continued  the 
speaker,  “ and  the  connection  was  so  bad  I had  to  close 
the  door  of  the  booth.  I was  inside  for  fifteen  minutes, 
talking  to  a Welshman  who  stuttered.” 

“Turn  on  that  electric  fan,  Jim,”  interrupted  the 
magistrate,  calling  to  his  constable. 

“When  I left  the  ’phone  booth,”  resumed  the  de- 
fendant, “ I saw  a car  I wanted  about  fifty  feet  away. 
I chased  it  for  nearly  a block,  but  couldn’t  catch  it. 
The  perspiration  was  leaking  into  my  shoes,  and  I left  a 
trail  like  a street  sprinkler.  The  poultice  on  my  chest 
would  have  smoked  if  it  hadn’t  been  so  wet. 

“ Then  I met  Mr.  Robinson,  and  he  asked  me  if  it 
was  hot  enough  for  me.” 

The  magistrate  sprang  to  his  feet,  mopping  his  wide 
and  rosy  face  with  his  handkerchief,  and  glowered  at 
Mr.  Robinson. 

“ Beat  it!”  said  he  to  the  defendant. 

Also  Comic. 

First  shining  light  (in  the  colored  church) — “ Ah 
don’t  believe  in  callin’  dis  heah  society  de  Ladies’  Aux- 
iliary. Dat’s  imitatin’  de  white  folks.” 

Second  shining  light — “ Den  wot  will  we  call  it?” 

First  shining  light — •“  Well,  wot’s  de  mattah  wid 
callin’  it  de  * Colored  Supplement  ’?” 

No  Danger. 

Worldly  aunt — “See  here,  Edith!  That  young  man 
to  whom  you’ve  engaged  yourself — is  his  future  as- 
sured?” 

Niece — “Oh,  yes,  auntie!  He  was  baptized  as  a 
child.” 


TWO  ASPECTS 

“You  are  the  most  worthless  man  living. 
You’re  not  worth  your  salt.” 


OF  THE  MATTER. 

But  when  the  railroad  company,  whose 
train  had  killed  Mr.  Worthless,  wanted  to  settle 
for  $10,000,  Mrs.  W.  held  out  for  $25,000. 


AND  THE  GIRLS  HAVEN’T  CHANGED  MUCH  SINCE. 

Pteplato — “ Hello,  Scorchibus  ! I thought  you’d  be  out  with  Penelope  burning  up  the  bay  in  your  ten-oar  Merceeme.  ” 

Scorchibus — “ Name  not  that  fickle  maid  ! I go  now  to  offer  up  a lemon  on  the  shrine  of  Eros.  She  hath  gone  out  with  that  greasy  olive-grower  in 
his  new  thirty-oar  Biat. ’’ 


CAMPING  OUT. 

I LIKE  to  lie 

And  watch  the  sky, 

Indulge  in  dreams  and  wishes. 

And  while  away 
A pleasant  day, 

While  others  wash  the  dishes. 

— Washington  Herald. 

And  when  at  night 
With  appetite 

So  keen  the  meals  we  eat,  oh, 

’Tis  satisfac- 
Tion  when  he  whack 
The  familiar  mosquito. 

— Scranton  Tribune. 

But  there  is  yet  another  charm. 

When  camping  out,  none  doubt ; 

That  is  when  some  one  lies  down  hard, 

Upon  your  sun-burned  arm. 

Raymond  Purcell,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


' SO  THEBE! 

J^flRIAM’S  mother,  after  sitting  for  an  hour  and  a 
half  on  the  topmost  step  in  the  hallway,  breathed 
a sigh  of  relief  as  the  vestibule  door  shut  with  a re- 
luctant click. 

“ Miriam,”  she  called,  as  the  pride  of  the  neighbor- 
hood tripped  lightly  up  the  stairs,  “ isn’t  that  young 
Schmidt  coming  to  our  house  pretty  often  nowadays?” 

“ I s’pose  he  is,  mamma.” 

“Do  you  know  anything  about  him?  What  is  he 
worth,  for  instance?” 

“ Well,  he’s  worth  any  dozen  of  the  ordinary  young 
men  of  my  acquaintance.” 

“ Yes,  my  dear;  but  ” ~ 

“ And  he’s  worth  one  hundred  dollars  a week  to  the 
firm  that  he  works  for,  even  if  he  does’  get  only  fifteen 
dollars  now.” 

James  L.  Gaines,  Coyetsville,  N.  J. 


BETTER  NEXT  TIME. 

“ I trust,”  exclaimed  the  pious  visitor  to  Convict  No.  164,  “that  you  see  the  error  of 
your  ways.  ’’ 

“ You  bet  I do !”  was  the  ready  response  ; “ and  I’ve  got  a new  system  all  framed 


WILL  AIRSHIPS  BE  POPULAR  WITH  HOBOES? 


Farmer  Cornhusk — “Thar,  b’gosh  ! I’ve  got  thet  fake 
chimbly  all  built.  Now  I’ll  jest  put  Spot  in  it,  so’s  he  kin 
grab  th’  next  tramp  thet  flies  along  this  way.” 


Prose  about  Poets. 

By  W.  J.  LAMPTON. 

A POET  learns  in  suffering  what  he  tells  in  the 
magazines. 

In  the  spring  a poet’s  fancy  lightly  turns  to 
the  increased  demand  for  his  product. 

Those  best  can  judge  a poet’s  worth  who  are  not 
asked  to  buy  his  stuff. 

Not  every  poet  who  cackles  lays  an  egg. 

A poet  in  time  saves  nine — dollars  and  a half,  more 
or  less. 

Unto  the  poet  all  things  are  poetry,  except  editors. 
Money  makes  the  poet  go. 

Don’t  look  a gift  poet  in  the  verse. 

This  is  the  truth  the  poet  sings,  that  pleasure’s  crown 
of  pleasure  is  seeing  his  published  things. 

Two  poets  do  not  make  a hummer. 

Desperate  poets  require  desperate  editors. 

A poet  in  print  is  worth  two  trying  to  get  there. 

A green  editor  makes  a fat  poet. 

Better  an  empty  poet  than  an  empty  poem. 

Poets  butt  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread.  f 

Poets  must  write  and  editors  must  weep. 

It  is  hard  to  put  old  heads  on  young  poets. 

Poets  may  die,  but  they  never  resign. 

A wise  man  thinks  all  that  he  says;  a poet  says  all 
that  he  thinks. 

If  the  editor  will  not  come  to  the  poet,  the  poet  must 
go  to  the  editor. 

Art  is  long — the  poet  is  short  most  of  the  time. 

Cast  thy  poetry  into  the  mails  and  thou  shalt  find  it 
after  many  days,  unless  you  neglected  to  inclose  postage 
for  return  if  not  available. 

Better  Dad  Than  Editors. 

Judge — “ How  do  you  earn  your  living?” 

Prisoner — “ By  writing,  your  honor.” 

Judge — “ And  what  do  you  write  for,  would  you  mind 
telling  us?” 

Prisoner — “Not  at  all;  I write  for  money  from 

home.” 


A Cautious  Maiden. 

By  HORACE  DODD  GASTIT. 

WE  TOOK  a stroll  in  Arcady,  in  Arcady,  in  Arcady, 
We  took  a stroll  in  Arcady  one  lovely  autumn  day. 
We  walked  in  lane  and  parkady, 

And  ilstened  to  the  larkady 
Who  killed  all  care  and  carkady 
With  merry  roundelay. 

We  strolled  till  after  darkady,  ter  darkady,  ter  darkady, 
We  strolled  till  after  darkady  had  shadowed  all  the  way. 
But  it  was  damp  in  Arcady, 

And  I began  to  barkady, 

And  sneeze  like  any  sharkady 
With  the  pneumoniay. 

I coughed  like  any  Snarkady,  ny  Snarkady,  ny  Snarkady, 
I coughed  like  any  Snarkady  with  influenziay. 

My  sweetheart  made  remarkady, 

“ Let’s  get  aboard  our  arkady ! 

Oh,  Strephon,  to  me  harkady, 

And  sail  from  here  away. 

“ ’Tis  beautiful  in  Arcady,  in  Arcady,  in  Arcady, 

’Tis  beautiful  in  Arcady,  but,  oh,  my  lover,  pray, 
Hereafter  let  us  sparkady 
At  Quoque  or  Menlo  Parkady, 

Or  Binghamton,  New  Yarkady; 

Along  the  soft  Ozarkady, 

Metuchen,  Hackensackady, 

Or  on  the  Hacmatackady — 

I care  not  where  or  whatady 
Its  name  or  humble  lotady, 

If  it  be  cold  or  hotady, 

As  long  as  here  ’tis  notady; 

For  in  this  famous  spotady 
We’ll  get  malariay.” 

These  Hard  Times. 

AN  economically-minded  citizen  stopped  in  a hardware 
store  and  asked, 

“ How  much  are  children’s  bathtubs?” 

“ From  three  dollars  up,”  responded  the  clerk. 
“Whew!”  whistled  the  customer.  “ Guess  we  will 


have  to  keep  on  washing  the  baby  in  the  coal-scuttle.” 


Aviator  Archie — “ Dis  airship  gag  is  all  to  de  candy.  Jest 
drop  in  on  de  farmer’s  wife  an’  make  yer  demands.  An’  I 
t’ink  ‘yours  airily’  is  wise  in  selectin’  dis  chimbly  as  de  right 
one  ter  drop  inter. 


YILL  AIRSHIPS  BE  POPULAR  WITH  HOBOES? 

(Continued) 


Holy  sufferin’  aeroplanes  ! dis  here  farmer  is  certainly  up 

ter  date. 


The  Sausage  King. 

By  BERTON  B RALEY. 

THE  king  of  the  sausages  lives  afar 

(Waiter,  put  stones  in  the  oyster  stew), 
In  a distant  isle  where  the  pretzels  are. 
(Butter  your  hair  and  try  a few.) 

His  ways  are  odd  and  his  manners  rude, 

His  tastes  are  rough  and  his  quarters  crude, 

But  he  bears  them  with  frankfortitude. 

(Waiter,  more  stones  in  the  oyster  stew). 

He  sailed  to  the  isle  on  a canine  bark 

(Waiter,  put  stones  in  the  oyster  stew), 

From  a German  picnic  in  the  park. 

(Butter  your  hair  and  try  a few.) 

He  built  his  house  on  a side  hill  bleak, 

And  the  roof  of  the  blooming  thing  would  leak, 
So  he  couldn’t  live  in  it  once  a week. 

(Waiter,  more  stones  in  the  oyster  stew.) 

A queer  old  chap  is  the  sausage  king 

(Waiter,  put  stones  in  the  oyster  stew) ; 

He’s  given  to  eating  most  any  old  thing. 

(Butter  your  hair  and  try  a few.) 

For  his  Sausageship  is  sorely  curst. 

With  nothing  to  drink  and  a burning  thirst. 

And  his  children  go  from  worse  to  wurst. 
(Waiter,  more  stones  in  the  oyster  stew.) 

But  I’d  like  to  live  on  the  Sausage  Isle 
(Waiter,  put  stones  in  the  oyster  stew). 
Where  they  raise  hot  sausages  every  style 
(Butter  your  hair  and  try  a few), 

Where  the  food  is  fat  and  the  talk  is  Dutch, 

And  nobody  ever  amounts  to  much. 

Ah,  take  me  there,  for  I like  it  such ! 

(Waiter,  I’m  done  with  the  oyster  stew.) 


The  Only  Preventive. 

The  zebra — “ Looks  as  if  your  tribe  is  doomed  to 
extinction.” 

The  elephant  (gloomily) — “Nothing  else  — unless 
some  jungle  Burbank  teaches  us  to  grow  celluloid  tusks 
instead  of  ivory.” 

18 


The  Dangers  of  Optimism. 

By  THOMAS  L.  MASSON. 

OPTIMISM  is  really  an  excellent  theory  if  kept  in 
its  place,  but  in  these  days  the  tendency  is  to  run 
it  into  the  ground.  We  meet  professional  opti- 
mists everywhere.  What  can  be  more  terrible,  for  ex- 
ample, than  to  be  in  such  a mental  state  that  you  can  be 
cured  by  any  form  of  the  New  Thought? 

In  the  first  stages  optimism  is  easily  curable.  One 
of  the  receipts  is  to  buy  a hundred  shares  of  Amalga- 
mated Copper. 

In  its  second  stage  it  is  susceptible  of  treatment  by 
marriage  or  living  in  the  suburbs. 

In  the  last  stages,  however,  the  patient  is  hopeless. 
He  is  too  happy  for  any  use,  and  is,  of  course,  quite  un- 
bearable. 

The  worst  feature  of  optimism  is  the  people  it  forces 
you  to  associate  with.  Not  to  be  able  to  get  rid  of  the 
man  who  has  discovered  the-true-meaning-of-Life — in- 
deed, to  become  so  that  you  actually  enjoy  his  Company 
— is  beyond  all  cure.  And  there  is  nothing  worse  than 
the  man  who  has  discovered  the-true-meaning-of-Life. 
There  may  be  other  grades  of  superiority  more  offensive, 
but  we  have  never  met  them.  It  is  better,  indeed,  to  be 
conservative,  and  not  admit  that  there  is  too  much  good 
in  anything. 

Only  in  this  way  can  one  retain  one’s  self-respect  in 
these  days  of  universal  panaceas. 

Seemed  Foolhardy. 

<<  ¥ OOK  here  !”•  said  the  official,  “ there’ll  be  trouble 
if  your  wife  disregards  us  when  we  persistently 
tell  her  she  must  not  pick  the  flowers.” 

“ Then,”  replied  Mr.  H.  Peck — for  it  was  no  other — 
“ why  ever  do  you  persist?” 


**\ATHY  DO  they  call  those  new  skirts  directoire?” 
▼ v “ French  for  ‘ directory,’  I am  told.” 
“Well?” 

“ Chief  points  of  interest  shown  at  a glance.” 


(As  he  lands.)  Airships  may  be  all  right  in  deir  place,  but 

dey  ain’t  goin’  ter  be  indorsed  by  me — not  much  ! It’s  de 
good  old  dusty  country  roads  an’  knockin’  at  de  doors  fer 
mine  hereafter.” 


THE  TWO-LEGGED  KIND. 

Mr.  Coon — “ How’d  yo’  like  ter  meet  me  ’round  ter  Squire  Brown’s  hen-roost 
ter-night,  Mr.  Possum?” 

Mr.  Possum — “ No,  thank  yo’,  Mr.  Coon.  Dar’s  too  much  danger  ob  dar  bein’ 
some  udder  coon  dan  yo’  dar.” 


Two  of  a Kind. 

'I'HE  MARBLE  clock  in  the  dining-room  had  just  an- 

* nounced  in  mellow  tones  the  hour  of  three  a.  m., 
when  the  wife  of  the  plumber  nudged  him  and  whispered 
nervously, 

“ Horace!  there’s  a burglar  in  the  house!” 

“There  is,  hey?”  answered  the  husband,  now  thor- 
oughly awake.  “ I’ll  see  about  him.” 

With  cunning  stealth  he  got  out  Of  bed  and  tiptoed 
out  of  the  room.  For  ten  minutes  no  sound  broke  the 
awful  stillness;  then  the  house  shook  with  a crash. 
There  was  a century  of  silence.  Then  a chair  fell,  the 
front  door  slammed,  and  a heavy  bundle  thumped  down 
the  front  stairs  and  into  the  street. 

The  terrified  wife  fainted,  to  be  brought  back  to  con- 
sciousness by  the  voice  of  her  husband. 

“ It’s  all  right,  dear;  I threw  him  out,”  he  chuckled, 
as  he  turned  on  the  light.  “ But  the  scoundrel  had  only 
four  dollars  and  thirty  cents  on  his  clothes.” 

The  Wonderful  Power  of  Suggestion. 

Howard — “ Did  you  ever  know  any  one  who  was  cured 
by  suggestion?” 

Coward— “ Yes.  I cured  the  duke’s  :nfatuation  for 
my  daughter  by  suggesting  that  he  lend  me  five  dollars.” 

Up  to  Date. 

/¥'HEY  were  looking  up  at  the  latest  skyscraper. 

* “ But  what  are  those  things  sticking  out  from  the 
sides?”  asked  the  up-State  friend. 

“Those?  Oh,  those  are  mile-posts!”  answered  the 
New  Yorker. 

Undesirable. 

'■'HIS  sign  has  been  posted  by  a multi-millionaire  over 

* his  gate : 

“ Notice — No  book  agents,  peddlers,  hucksters,  for- 
eign prices,  lords,  or  dukes  allowed  on  these  premises!” 


A Good  Thing  To  Plan  for. 

Jim — “ Is  Nubbly  far-sighted?” 

Joe — “ Yes.  He  is  always  planning  ahead.’’' 

Jim — “ That’s  good,  for  he  must  be  awfully  wissatis- 
fied  with  the  one  he  has.” 

Joe — “What  do  you  think  of  the  foreign  mail  for 
two  cents?” 

Jay — “ Depends  on  the  foreign  male.  I think  a 
foreign  male  like  Boni  de  Sagandi  would  be  expensive 
at  any  price.” 

^JEWS  ITEM — A tug  captain  of  Dum  has  walked  with 
a limp  ever  since  he  heard  of  the  corn  on  one  of 
his  tows. 


THE  LOST  LINK. 

“If  I’d  known  the  old  thing  was  so  valuable  I wouldn't 
have  stolen  it.  Here  they  are  advertising  it  already.” 


The  Night  after  Thanksgiving 

By  L.  S.  WATERHOUSE. 

OW  ON  my  breast  doth  heaviness 
And  anxious  sorrow  sadly  lie. 

Tis  echo  of  last  night’s  distress — 

I dreamed  I was  a chicken  pie. 

My  crust  was  full,  yet  would  not  burst, 
Although  I did  not  cease  to  strive. 
I felt  their  wings,  and  — what  was 
worst — 

Each  mother’s  chick  appeared  alive! 

In  vain  I sought  to  plunge  a knife 

To  where  such  great  disturbance  lay; 

I'only  managed  in  my  strife 

To  cast  the  bedclothes  all  away. 

At  last — I knew  not  when  nor  how — 

This  vision  sauntered  from  my  head. 

And  yet  I could  not  rest,  for  now 
I was  a roasted  pig  instead. 

My  ears  were  decked  with  something  green; 

I held  an  apple  in  my  paws/ 

And  some  one — meanest  of  the  mean — 

Had  jammed  a lemon  in  my  jaws! 


I woke  from  this  to  swiftly  drag 
My  senses  through  a greater  woe; 

I was  all  sewed  up  in  a bag — 

A pudding,  I would  have  you  know. 

And  now  all  earthly  hope  seemed  past — 

I screeched  and  floundered,  so  they  said. 
This  morning,  when  I woke  at  last, 

I wished  I had  not  gone  to  bed. 

A Convenient  Failing. 

^€\JLTHY  DID  you  walk  out  during  the  sermon?” 
“ Couldn’t  help  it.  I’m  a somnambulist.” 


Society. 

If  ONOR  and  place  from  one  condition  rise. 

**  Act  swell  your  part,  there  social  prestige  lies. 


Business  before  Sentiment.  ' 

WT  WAS  a girl  at  the  home  of  the  Battle  Creek  mil- 
* lionaire,  and  the  question  now  was  the  name- 
Everything,  from  Abigail  to  Zoe,  was  rejected,  until 
a poet,  who  was  present,  mentioned  “ Cerealita.” 
Instantly  there  was  a great  acclaim — the  question  was 
settled. 

But  Mr.  Offlewod  shook  his  head  and  wrote  in  a little 
notebook.  “ After  all,”  he  said,  “it  is  but  a baby  girl. 
There  are  millions  in  this  name  for  our  new  breakfast 
food,  composed  of  equal  parts  of  pine  shavings,  parched 
excelsior  and  shredded  saw  logs,  and  business  is  busi- 
ness.” 

So  they  named  the  baby  Sarah  Jane. 

All  He  Asked. 

ii  ND  WHAT,”  asked  one  of  the  once-famous 

* * actor’s  friends  as  he  bent  beside  the  bed, 
“ would  you  like  to  have  carved  on  your  tombstone?  Is 
there  not  some  sentiment  which  you  wish  to  have  used 
as  your  epitaph?” 

“ Yes,”  the  dying  man  replied.  “ Let  it  be  this : ‘It 
never  was  necessary  to  give  him  a benefit.’  ” 

The  Fair  Grafter. 

SHE  HAD  quite  a passion  for  whist. 

And  few  were  the  tricks  that  she  missed. 

If  you  chanced  to  get  heated 
And  claimed  that  she  cheated, 

She  smiled  so  you  couldn’t  insist. 


NEWS  ITEM. 

Mr.  Turkey  receives  a “black-hand”  letter. 


AT  A BACHELORS’  CLUB  THANKSGIVING  DINNER 


1.  Eleven  o’clock  p.  m. 


2.  One  o’clock  a.  m. 


3.  Four  o’clock  a.  m. 


Poor  Adam ! 

DAM  stopped  to  wipe  the  sweat  out  of  his  eyes. 

“ Well,”  he  said,  “ I had  a fine  time  in  Eden,  all 
right,  but  it  certainly  is  tough  to  spend  the  rest  of  your 
life  paying  for  one  season  at  a summer  resort.”  Then 
he  dropped  his  hoe  and  stumbled  wearily  across  the  field 
to  drive  a rhinoceros  out  of  the  corn. 


A Vulgar  Word. 

Miss  Parr  Venue — “ Oh,  maw,  there  comes  Mrs, 
Brown  up  the  steps!  My!  don’t  she  look  bellicose  to- 
day!” 

Mrs.  Parr  Venue — “ Don’t  use  such  vulgar  language, 
daughter.  Say  adipose.  Mrs.  Brown  can’t  help  being 
stout.” 


“The  Early  Bird—”, 

Manager — “ I suppose  you  noticed 
that  my  advertisement  read  ‘ None  but 
a sober  man  need  apply  for  this  posi- 
tion’?” 

Applicant — “ Yes,  I noticed  that,  and 
that’s  why  I applied  very  early  in  the 
morning.  ” 

Easily  Obliged. 

Tramp — “ Say,  boss,  can  yer  tell  a 
feller  where  he  kin  get  fifteen  cents  fer 
a bed?” 

Old  gentleman  (dealer  in  second- 
hand furniture) — ‘‘Certainly,  my  good 
man.  Bring  the  bed  to  me,  and  if  it  is 
worth  fifteen  cents  I’ll  buy  it.” 


He — “ Really,  now,  what  would  you 
do  if  you  were  a man?” 

She — “ What  would  you?” 


MUSICAL. 
A German  air. 


Why  Joyner  Left  Home. 

•<t  ARE  YOU  ready  tareceive  the  obligations?”  asked 
• * the  Most  Upright  Supreme  Hocus-Pocus  of  the 
Order  of  Hoot  Owls. 

“ I am,”  said  the  candidate  firmly. 

“ Then  take  a sip  of  this  prussic  acid,  place  your 
right  hand  in  this  pot  of  boiling  lead,  rest  your  left 
hand  upon  this  revolving  buzz-saw,  close  your  eyes  and 
repeat  after  me  ” 

Early  next  morning  shreds  of  Joyner’s  clothing  were 
found  upon  the  bushes  and  trees  all  along  the  road  to 
Pottsville,  thirty  miles  distant,  and  at  Scrabbletown, 
sixty  miles  away,  he  was  reported  still  headed  west. 

There  Was. 

^I'HE  DISHEVELED  bard  entered  the  weary-eyed 
* editor’s  apartment. 

“ Is  there  an  opening  here  for  a poet?”  he  inquired. 
‘‘Yes,  indeed,”  replied  the  editor,  touching  a button 
underneath  his  desk;  and  the  next  instant  the  poet  dis- 
appeared through  a trap  door  in  the  floor. 

The  Height  of  Affability. 

Randall — “ Falls  all  over  you,  does  she?” 

Rogers — “ She  couldn’t  be  any  more  aifable  if  I were 
her  cook.” 


A Marvel  of  Human  Ingenuity. 

^IMIE  WRITER  has  never  appreciated  until  recently 
* what  a boon  was  conferred  upon  humanity  by  the 
typecasting  machine.  It  is  now  in  general  use  in  a ma- 
jority of  newspaper  offices,  and  the  writer’s  heart  throbs 
with  gratitude  to  the  inventor  when  he  reads  an  impor- 
tant and  thrilling  dispatch  like  the  following; 

“Washington,  D.  C.,  Sept.  12. — At  Fort 
Myer,  to-day,  Orville  Wright  in  his  aeroplane 
women.  They  have  asked  for  the  suffrage  on 
affection  has  little  to  do  with  the  marriage 
-de  q.no  opeui  sba&  spoqa  oqq.  uaqM 

This  achievement  on  the  part  of  Wright 
leads  to  the  conclusion  that  the  problem  of  the 
navigation  of  the  air  has  at  last  been- 

by  the  tyrant  man  with  his  medieval  ideas  of 

by  the  tyrant  man  with  his  medieval  ideas  of 

by  the  tyrant  man  with  his  medieval  ideas  of 

solved.  The  planes  of  this  unique  machine  are 
the  heaviness  which  was  needed  where  a tube 

yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy 

Mushy  Miriam. 

A SOULFUL  young  woman  named  Miriam, 

Whene’er  she  had  beaux,  would  quite  weary  ’em 
With  languishing  sighs 
She  would  roll  up  her  eyes, 

And  would  darling  and  ducky  and  dearie  ’em. 


HARD  LUCK. 


Turk  (gasping) — “Well,  to  think  after  training  and  starving  for  six  weeks  and  escaping  the  axe,  a party 
of  Thanksgiving  joy-riders  should  hand  it  to  me ! ” {Expires.) 


AFTER  THE  THANKSGIVING  MEAL. 


“Well,  where’ll  we  go  now — football  game  or  matinee?” 

“Neither.  If  we  go  to  the  game  it  will  be  beef  and  brawn,  and  if  we  go  to  the  show  it  will  be  legs  and 
wings  ; and  I don’t  want  to  be  reminded  of  anything  to  eat  for  six  weeks  ! ’’ 


The  Correspondence  Column. 

BY  FRANK  R.  WALTON. 

OF  ALL  the  institutions  great  for  making  people 
wise, 

The  very  greatest  one  of  all  is  “ Queries  and  Re- 
plies,” 

The  correspondence  column  of  the  Feminine  Gazette, 

For  Madame  Claire,  who  writes  that  part,  is  wisdom’s 
special  pet. 

Her  answers  settle  ev’ry  doubt  with  perfect  satisfaction, 
So  “ Old  Subscriber”  merely  needs  to  put  them  into 
action ! 

One  rule,  quite  neat,  cures  swollen  feet, 

The  next' will  soothe  a lovelorn  heart; 

Then  come  replies  on  killing  flies, 

And  whether  Browning  is  true  art. 

For  never  mind  how  big  a woe  or  knotty  question  may 
arise, 

It  never  yet  feazed  Madame  Claire,  whose  wisdom  rare, 
Can  settle  all,  though  great  or  small, 

In  “ Queries  and  Replies.” 

No  doubt  great  Solomon  was  wise  and  knew  a thing  or  two, 
But  did  he  know  that  ermine  furs  should  be  wrapped  up 
in  blue? 

And  could  he  tell  just  how  to  make  upon  a simple  plan 
A very  stylish  hatpin  case  from  any  old  tin  can? 

Ah,  Man ! proud  Man ! must  own  at  least  this  little 
limitation — 

It  takes  a Madame  Claire  to  guide  the  women  of  the 
nation. 

Her  judgments  clear,  they  all  will  hear, 

For  instinct  tells  her  all  their  needs; 

And  so  we  find  that  womankind 

With  confidence  her  column  reads. 

For  since  there’s  magic  in  a name,  and  in  French  names 
most  magic  lies, 

The  fact  is  hid  that  Madame  Claire,  with  wisdom  rare, 

Is  just  a myth,  and  Billy  Smith 
Writes  “ Queries  and  Replies.” 


He  Had  Reformed. 

<«  ¥TNCLE  MOSE,”  said  the  drummer,  addressing  an 
^ aged  colored  man  who  was  holding  down  a dry- 
goods  box  in  front  of  the  village  store,  “ they  tell  me 
that  you  remember  seeing  General  Washington.  Is  it 
true?” 

“ No,  sah,”  replied  the  old  man.  “ Ah  uster  ’mem- 
bah  seein’  him,  but  Ah  don’t  no  moh  since  Ah  done  j’in’d 
church,  sah.” 

The  Wrong  Charge. 

<i  /“XFFICER,”  said  the  police  magistrate,  “ what  is 
the  charge  against  this  man?” 

“ Disorderly  conduct,  your  honor.  He  approached 
two  chorus  ladies  to  whom  he  had  never  been  introduced 
and  invited  them  to  have  a Thanksgiving  dinner  at  his 
expense.” 

“ That  wasn’t  disorderly  conduct — it  was  reckless 
daring.” 

The  Sheath  Gown. 

LIKE  other  fads  that  don’t  endure, 

’Twill  have  its  little  day. 

The  ladies,  though,  should  first  make  sure 
That  they  are  built  that  way. 

Young  America’s  Explanation. 

“'MY  CHILD>  your  head  is  all  perspiration!” 

1T1  <<  yes,  ma;  my  roof  leaks.” 

Readily  Accounted  For. 

Charley  Litewate — “ I am  greatly  troubled  with  a 
rush  of  blood  to  the  head.  How  do  you  account  for  it, 
doctor?” 

Doctor— “ Well,  Nature  abhors  a vacuum,  you  know.” 


Ezekiel  Jones’s  Snore  Suppressor 

By  ARTHUR  WILLIAM  BEER 


WAS  waiting  for  my  train  at  a little 
country  station.  It  was  a still,  summer 
day,  and  the 
silence  was 
broken  only  by 
the  rhythmic 
snoring  of  a 
negro  porter, 
who  lay 
stretched  out 
in  the  sun  on  the  baggage 
platform. 

“ It  seems  odd  that,  in  this 
age  of  big  inventions,  no  one 
has  ever  thought  up  some 
method  of  preventing  snor- 
ing,” I remarked  casually  to 
the  only  other  person  in  sight, 
an  old  fellow  who  was  seated 
on  a crate  of  chickens,  chew- 
ing tobacco  and  expectorating 
at  intervals  with  a calm  and 
judicious  air. 

He  fixed  a pair  of  keen  gray 
eyes  on  me. 

“ Reckon  you’re  a stranger 
in  these  parts?”  he  said  pres- 
ently. 

I admitted  it. 

He  chuckled  joyously  to  himself. 

“ Never  heard  tell  o’  Jake  Weathersby?” 


I said  that  I had  not,  but  indicated  my  entire  will- 
ingness to  hear  of  him  or  of  any  other  gentleman,  the 
relation  of  whose  exploits 
might  serve  to  pass  away  the 
tedious  hours  while  awaiting 
the  advent  of  that  infernal 
train. 

The  old  man  supplied  him- 
self with  a fresh  chew  of  to- 
bacco, took  careful  aim  at  the 
shining  steel  rail  a few  feet 
away,  looked  disappointed  when 
he  missed  it,  and  finally  pro- 
ceeded. 

“ You  think  that  nigger’s 
snorin',”  said  he.  “ Sakes 
alive,  that  ain’t  snorin’!  You 
oughter  have  heard  Jake 
Weathersby!  Guess  he— well, 
I’ll  tell  you  how  the  matter  o’ 
the  invention  come  up. 

“ I was  settin’  round  about 
here  a couple  o’  years  back 
when  a queer-lookin’  old  fellow 
happened  along. 

“‘Nice  little  town  you’ve 
got  here,’  says  he. 

“ ‘ Pretty  fair,’  says  I. 

“‘I  was  lookin’  around  a bit  last  night, ’ says  he, 
‘ and  things  certainly  seemed  pretty  prosperous.  Lots 
o’  buildin’  goin’  on — and  what’s  that  sort  o’  little  fac- 


IT  ALL  DEPENDS. 


Mr.  Smith — “ Are  you  interested  in  stuffed 
birds  ? ” 

Mr.  Jones — “Yes,  when  the  job  is  done  by  a 
good  cook.’’  ( 


THE  FORTUNE-TELLER. 

Sharp  Edge — “This  card  means  that  a terrible  misfortune  will  befall  you 
on  the  day  indicated.” 


HELPING  MATTERS  ALONG. 


STAGE  GOSSIP. 

“ You  were  the  leading  man  last  season,  weren’t 
you  ?” 

“Yes  ; coming  back.  ” 


fame,  fame!'  he  muttered.  ‘What  a bubble  thou 
art ! ’ 

“Then  he  went  on  to  explain  the  situation.  Seems 
he  was  an  inventor  of  all  sorts  of  odd  contrivances,  and 
his  latest  was  a patent  snore  suppressor.  He  was 
lookin’  around  for  some  good,  hearty  snorer  to  test  it 
on,  and  it  struck  him  right  away  that  old  man  Weath- 
ersby  was  it. 

“ I was  quick  enough  to  agree  that  if  his  machine 
would  subdue  the  nerve-rackin’,  ear-splittin’,  hyena-like 
snore  possessed  by  Jake  Weathersby,  it  would  fill  a 
long-felt  want. 

“ * But,’  says  I,  ‘ the  old  man  will  never  agree  to  any 
such  foolishness.  I rather  think  he’s  proud  o’  that 
snore  o’  his.’ 

“ ‘ I’ll  fix  that  up  all  right,’  says  Ezekiel. 

“ Well,  I warned  him  that  he’d  better  go  slow  and 
not  play  any  monkey  tricks  with  the  old  man. 

“‘He’s  a regular  old  fire-eater,’  says  I,  ‘and  not 
skeered  of  anything.  Wait!’  says  I;  ‘ I reckon  he  is 
just  a bit  afeared  of  the  Widow  Smith,  who’s  been 
a-settin’  her  cap  at  him  for  some  time.  But  that’s 
natural  enough.  Otherwise  he’s  plum  bloodthirsty. 
There’s  been  some  kind  o’  night-ridin’  fellers  around 
here  lately,  a-robbin’  and  raisin’  the  devil  generally. 

“ ‘ Jest  let  ’em  come  a-nigh  my  place,’  says  old  Jake 
t’other  day.  ‘ I may  not  be  quite  as  spry  on  my  feet  as 
I used  to  be,  but  I reckon  I kin  handle  them  fellers  all 


tory  down  at  the  foot  o’  the  hill  just 
on  the 'edge  ’o  town?  Must  be  pretty 
busy — they  was  still  a-runnin’  when  I 
came  a-past  there  late  last  night.’ 

“ ‘ Factory?’  says  I.  ‘ I don’t  know 
o’ no  factory.  ’ * 

“‘Well,’ he  says,  ‘all  I can  say  is 
there  certainly  was  some  kind  o’  ma- 
chinery runnin’  there  when  I came  by 
about  ten  o’clock  last  night,’  and  he 
went  on  to  describe  the  place  pretty 
accurate. 

“Then  a great  light  breaks  in  upon 
me,  as  the  writer  folks  would  say. 

“ ‘ Factory  nothin’ !’  I says.  ‘ That 
ain’t  ho.  factory.  That’s  old  man 
Weathersby ’s  place,  and  I reckon  ’twas 
him  a-snorin’  you  heard.’ 

“ He  looked  surprised-like  for  a mo- 
ment. Then: 

“ ‘ That’s  what  I call  providential!  ’ 
says  he. 

“ ‘ The  neighbors  don’t  so  regard  it,’ 
says  I. 

“Then  he  digs  out  a card  from  his 
pocket  and  hands  it  to  me. 

“‘Ezekiel  Jones,  Inventor, ’ I read. 

“ ‘ Reckon  you’ve  heard  o’  that  name 
afore,’  he  says,  as  I looked  from  the 
card,to  him. 

“ ‘ Never  in  my  life,’  says  I. 

“ He  looked  a bit  downcast.  ‘ Ah, 


WICKED  NEW  YORK. 

Clara — “Why  is  New  York  different  than  most  large  cities?” 
Vera — “I  don’t  know.” 

Clara — “It  was  once  possessed  with  two  ‘ Devils  ’ instead  of  one.” 


( 


right.  I don’t  like  to  shed  human  blood,’  he  says,  * but 
dooty  is  dooty.’ 

“ Well,  notwithstandin’  all  I said  about  Jake  Weath- 
ersby,  this  here  Ezekiel  Jones  still  insisted  that  Jake 
was  elected  to  test  his  invention;  and,  after  thankin’ 
me  kindly  for  puttin’  him  next  to  so  good  a thing,  and 
writin’  my  name  down  in  a dirty  little  memorandum 
book  so  as  he  wouldn’t  fergit  it,  away  he  went.  I heard 
all  about  it  afterward,  partly  through  a letter  Ezekiel 
wrote  me,  and  partly  from  the  Widow  Smith,  though 
she  wasn’t  a widow  no  more  then — but  that’s  gettin’ 
ahead  o’  my  story. 

“ It  seems  that  this  here  Ezekiel  Jones,  Inventor, 
went  down  to  old  man  Weathersby’s  and  tried  to  get 
thick  with  him,  but  there  was  nothin’  doin’.  The  old 
man  sized  him  up  for  a lightnin’-rod  agent,  and  threat- 
ened to  shoot  him  if  he  didn’t  vacate  the  premises  im- 
mediate. Ezekiel  was  cast  down,  but  not  dismayed,  as 
you  might  say.  He  was  clear  grit.  His  invention  just 
had  to  be  tested,  and  old  man  Weathersby  was  it. 
Ezekiel  had  that  all  settled,  and  there  was  no  gettin’  it 
out  o’  his  head. 


“ So  what  does  he  do  but  enter  the  shack  at  night 
when  all  was  still — no,  you  couldn’t  hardly  say  all  was 
still  neither,  for  Jake  Weathersby  was  makin’  the 
night  hideous  as  usual  with  his  boiler-factory  snore. 

“ Yes,  sir;  that  there  inventor  chap  takes  his  life  in 
his  hands,  as  you  might  say,  and  crawls  through  a win- 
der that  had  been  left  open  on  account  of  its  bein’  a 
warm  summer  evenin’.  After  gettin’  his  bearin’s,  he 
sneaked  up  to  the  bedside  and  carefully  adjusted  his  sup- 
pressor, a curious  contrivance  o’  steel  plates  and  wire 
springs,  on  old  man  Weathersby’s  prominent  nose.  He 
then  stepped  back  into  the  darkness  to  await  results. 

“ Well,  it  appears  that  the  results  was  all  that  could 
be  expected.  Ezekiel  wrote  me  afterward  that  he  reck- 
oned he’d  made  a miscalculation  and  keyed  the  sup- 
pressor up  too  all-fired  strong. 

“ Anyway,  it  seems  the  old  man’s  snorin’  ceased 
with  a suddenness,  and  he  started  up  with  a wild  snort 
o’  terror. 

“ ‘ Lord!  the  night-riders  is  upon  me!’  he  yelled,  and 
made  one  flyin’  leap  for  the  open  winder.  Out  he  went, 
head-first,  lightin ’ all  in  a heap  in  a patch  o’  weeds,  but 


FAMILY  CHARACTERISTICS. 

t aimer  Meaders — '*  &o  th’  bunco  man  told  yew  he  wuz  a son  o’  good  ole  Deacon  Perkins,  an’  yew  believed  him  ? 
Fartnei  Snakeroot—*' Kot  at  first,  Si ; but  when  he  started  in  talkin’  religion  an’  tryin’  ter  pick  my  pocket  at  th 
same  time,  by  gum  ! \ jes:  couldn’t  help  but  believe  he  wuz  Deacon  Perkins’s  own  son  ’ 


scramblin’  quickly  to  his  feet  and  makin’  off  down  the  road  as  tight 
as  he  could  jump. 

“ Ezekiel  hesitated  a moment,  and  then  clambered  out  of  the 
winder  after  him,  for  he  didn’t  want  to  lose  the  only  model  of  the 
snore  suppressor  he  had  on  hand. 

“ Down  the  pike  galloped  old  man  Weathersby,  only  hittin’  the 
high  places,  as  it  were,  the  suppressor  meanwhile  stickin’  closer 
than  a brother  ; and  after  him — a considerable  ways  after  him — 
limped  Ezekiel. 

“ After  a bit  Weathersby  turns  off  into  an  open  space  on  the  edge 
o’  town,  where  the  circus  pitches  its  canvas  when  it  hits  this 
village,  and  where  we  hold  our  county  fairs.  Ezekiel,  thinkin’ 
that  perhaps  he’d  gone  for  re-enforcements,  and,  moreover,  bein’ 
pretty  much  winded  by  this  time,  drops  out  o’  the  race  and  departs 
for  some  place  unknown. 

**  Well,  it  so  happened  just  at  that  time  that  the  Afro- 
American  Ebenezer  Congregation  was  holdin’  of  a camp-meetin’ 
on  the  fair  grounds.  Some  o’  them  had  been  hangin’  back  un- 
dooly,  and  the  presidin’  elder  had  been  a-poundin’  it  into  ’em  that 
night  that  the  spirit  o’  wrath  would  mightily  descend  if  they 
didn’t  hasten  to  see  the  error'  o’  their  ways  and  double-quick  to 
the  mourners’  bench. 

“ Well,  when  old  man  Weathersby  came  a-tearin’  through  their 
midst,  with  the  suppressor  hangin’  on  to  his  face  like  a crab  and 
his  nightshirt  streamin’  in  the  breeze,  it  was  the  general  opinion 
that  the  spirit  o’  wrath  had  arrived  on  schedule  time,  and  the 
whole  aggregation  stampeded,  as  it  were. 

“ It  ain’t  o’  record  just  when  the  old  man  run  hisself  down  or  got 


“ ’TWAS  BUT  A DREAM.” 

“ He  dreamt  that  he  dwelt  in  marble  halls.” 


A QUACK  DOCTOR. 


rid  o’  the  patent  snore  suppressor,  but  it 
appears  he  finally  did  both.  When  he  come 
to  a bit,  he  was  scared  to  go  back  to  his 
house;  besides,  he  was  some  tired,  as  you 
may  imagine,  and,  even  on  a summer’s 
evenin’,  a nightshirt  is  a leetle  thin  as  an 
outdoor  garment.  So,  findin’  hisself  in  the 
neighborhood  o’  the  Widow  Smith’s,  and 
seein’  a light  burnin’  there,  and  bein’  a bit 
rattled  into  the  bargain,  I guess,  as  a re- 
sult o’  his  excitin’  run,  he  made  bold  to  go 
and  knock  on  her  door,  with  the  idee  o’ 
borrowin’  a blanket  or  somethin’  in  which 
he  might  infold  hisself  while  huntin’  up  the 
constable. 

“ He  oughter  have  known  wimmen  folks 
better,  of  course.  It  seems  she  went  into 
hysterics  immediately  on  gettin’  a sight  o’ 
him.  Her  awful  screams  aroused  the 
neighbors,  and  they  came  presently  and 
discovered  old  Jake  Weathersby  a-shiverin 


WHERE  THERE’S  A WILL  THERE’S  A WAY. 

An  illustrated  story  of  how  Dr.  Johnson  got  his  Thanksgiving  turkey. 


on  the  Widow  Smith’s  front  porch,  while  the  widow 
herself  was  havin’  some  kind  of  a fit  in  the  doorway. 

Well,  of  course,  he  just  had  to  marry  her,  and  ” 

But  here  the  whistle  of  the  approaching  engine  in- 
terrupted the  story. 

The  Unhappy  Medium. 

44  RONSON  is  one  of  the  most  humble  men  I ever 
® saw.” 

“ Yes.  Arrogance  seems  to  be  wholly  foreign  to  his 
make-up.” 

“ I wonder  why  it  is  that  he  always  has  such  a serv- 
ile manner?” 

“ I think  it  is  because  he  is  neither  rich  enough  to 
get  into  a trust  nor  poor  enough  to  belong  to  a union.” 

Terrible  Deprivation. 

Stella — “ Has  she  a Southern  accent?” 

Bella — “ Yes.  She  can’t  get  enough  r’s  in  a month 
to  eat  oysters.” 


Lagniappe. 

44  ¥ UNDERSTAND  that  Mr.  Pennink  is  making  a 
* tremendous  success,  selling  short  stories  to  the 
magazines,”  remarks  the  man  with  the  frayed  collar. 

“Yes.  He’s  a smooth  one,”  replies  the  man  with 
the  leaky  fountain  pen. 

“ He  must  be,  to  sell  his  stories.  I don’t  see  any- 
thing about  them  to  make  the  magazine  editors  crazy  to 
buy  them.” 

“ Well,  he  has  a gift  of  rhyming,  you  know,  and  when 
he  sends  a short  story  to  a magazine  he  throws  in  a poem 
of  the  right  brevity  to  fill  the  bottom  of  the  page  on 
which  the  story  will  end.” 

Juvenile  Wisdom. 

<<  ¥ATHAT  did  people  do  before  steel  pens  were  ?n- 
vented?”  asked  the  teacher. 

“ The  pinions  of  one  goose  were  used  to  spread  the 
opinions  of  another,”  answered  the  wise  boy  at  the 
pedal  extremity  of  the  class. 


CIRCUMSTANCES  ALTER  CASES. 

Farmer — “Gosh  ! I hate  to  kill  thet  turkey.  I’ve  fed  her  sence  she  wuzzent 
much  bigger  then  a sparrer.  ” 

Sympathetic  ^visitor — “ I understand  just  how  you  feel.” 

Farmer — “ Course.  Ye’ve  only  got  to  look  at  her.  {Later,  after  lifting  the 
bird.)  Shot  she  ain’t  haff  fat  enough.”  ’* 


THE  INDIAN  SUMMER  OF  FOOTBALL. 


1.  Uncle  John — “Come  on,  Cy  ! Let’s  show  these  youngsters  how  mue  used  to  kick 
the  goal ! ’’ 


Reflections  of  Uncle  Ezra 

By  ROY  K.  MOULTON. 


EZ  PURDY’S  wife  has  got  a new  changeable  silk 
dress.  By  gravy!  if  I was  a woman  I wouldn’t 
want  a silk  dress  that  I couldn’t  change  once  in 
a while  if  I wanted  to. 

There  are  three  kinds  of  fellers  that  ought  to  leave 
hoss  racin’  alone.  They  are  old  fellers,  young  fellers 
and  middle-aged  fellers.  The  only  ones  that  ever  make 
any  money  follerin’  the  hosses  are  hack  drivers. 

The  people  of  our  town  demanded  higher  education 
for  their  kids,  so  the  school  board  has  decided  to  build 
the  new  schoolhouse  up  on  top  of  Lookout  Hill,  which 
is  the  highest  in  this  township. 

Grandpa  Hanks  has  got  a new  wooden  leg  made  out’n 
a Normandy  popular  tree,  and  it  grows  so  fast  he  has  to 
saw  off  six  or  eight  inches  of  it  every  day,  so  that  he 
won’t  walk  lopsided.  He  has  sawed  off  enough  already 
to  keep  him  in  stove  wood  most  all  winter.  The  last 
wooden  leg  he  had  was  made  out’n  a weepin’  wilier,  and 
he  says  it  looked  so  pathetic  he  didn’t  have  the  heart  to 
walk  around  on  it. 

Hank  Peters  fell  off’n  Anse  Judson’s  barn  the  other 
day  and  knocked  his  brains  out.  Hank  don’t  mind  it 
much,  as  he  has  since  got  a job  as  chorus  man  with  a 
musical  comical  show. 

Hi  Spink  says  the  hardest  time  he  ever  had  in  his 
life  was  once  when  he  helped  the  minister  put  up  a 
stove  and  fit  the  pipe.  Hi  pretty  near  busted,  holdin’ 
back  so  much  language,  but  after  he  got  through  he 
went  down  behind  Perkins’s  mill  and  cussed  for  three 
Hours  without  stoppin’. 


By  ginger ! I have  spent  most  of  my  life  in  the  woods, 
and  I never  heard  of  a hall  tree.  I guess  somebody  is  a 
nature  faker.  Anse  Judson  says  he  has  got  one. 

Bud  Hicks,  of  this  town,  who  is  spendin’  the  winter 
in  New  York,  must  be  keepin’  nice  and  warm,  as  he 
writes  home  that  the  police  have  kept  him  in  the  sweat- 
box  most  of  the  time. 

I see  by  the  papers  another  New  York  girl  is  goin’  to 
marry  a foreign  count.  I never  heard  of  a count  that 
wasn’t  a foreign  one. 

Deacon  Stubbs  says  they  have  got  a drink  down  to 
New  York  called  a pussy  cafe,  and  when  a feller  drinks 
one  he  feels  like  he  was  livin’  nine  lives  all  at  once. 
Deacons  at  home  and  deacons  away  from  home  is  evi- 
dently two  kinds  of  deacons. 

Mrs.  Ansel  Jimkey  has  to  wear  a thirty-nine-cent 
calico  wrapper  to  socials,  funerals  and  other  society 
events,  and  she  is  thinkin’  some  of  suin’  Anse  for  divorce 
on  the  grounds  of  incompatibility  of  expenditure. 

When  Hod  Peters  was  down  to  York  he  kicked  be- 
cause he  found  a suspender  button  in  the  hash.  Some 
folks  is  never  satisfied.  He  probably  wanted  a whole 
suit  of  clothes. 

A Man’s  Opinion. 

4 4 ¥F  WE  had  women  for  judges,”  said  the  lady  with 
* the  square  jaw,  “ few  divorces  would  be  granted.” 
“Yes,”  replied  the  horrid  man.  “They’d  be  so 
eager  to  hear  the  scandalous  details  that  it  would  never 
be  possible  to  get  all  the  evidence  in.” 


Choice  Spots  on  the  Earth — Harlem 


HARLEM  is  bounded  on  the  north  by  Sing  Sing,  on 
the  east  by  the  Long  Island  Perfumery  Works  at 
Hunter’s  Point,  on  the  south  by  <L  P.  Morgan  and 
on  the  west  by  the  Palisades  Advertising  Company,  un- 
limited. 

Harlem  was  first  settled  by  the  New  York  baseball 
team,  who  were  in  the  habit  of  killing  their  umpires  on 
the  banks  of  the  Harlem  River  as  far  back  as  1798.  Rip 
Van  Winkle  once  went  through  Harlem,  and  calling  at 
the  first  beer  garden  for  a high  ball,  drank  it,  and  stag- 
gering on  to  the  Catskills,  slept  for  twenty  years.  That 
is  why  no  one,  to  this  day,  blames  him. 

Harlem  is  noted  for  its  industries,  among  which  we 
may  mention  the  Harlem  goat  joke  and  the  Harlem  flat 
joke.  These  jokes  immigrated  from  Egypt  early  in  the 
last  century,  and  have  since  then  led  a peaceful  and 
unperturbed,  but  quite  active,  existence. 

Harlem  is  connected  with  the  Stock  Exchange  by  the 
elevated  railroad,  the  subway  and  the  Croton  aqueduct. 
Having  been  robbed  of  all  personality  years  ago,  it  has 
nothing  to  conceal.  Its  windows,  disclosing  its  succu- 
lent home  life,  are  always  open  to  the  passing  European 
traveler  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  enabling  him 
to  get  the  most  vivid  impressions  of  America.  It  con- 
tains about  four  miles  of  Philadelphia  pressed  brick, 
children  and  bedclothes,  and  rises  to  a height  of  one 
hundred  feet  above  the  Wall  Street  level. 

Harlem  and  Brooklyn  have  been  deadly  rivals.  In  a 
sleeping  contest,  no  one  knows  which  would  win.  Har- 
lem is  sustained  and  soothed  by  Woodlawn  Cemetery; 
Brooklyn  has  Greenwood. 

It  is  fortunate  that  New  York  lies  between  them; 


otherwise  the  banner  of  the  ready-made  necktie,  the 
Sunday  silk  hat  and  the  ubiquitous  baby  carriage  would 
float  over  Manhattan  Island,  where  naught  now  inter- 
feres with  the  Sabbath  calm  except  the  passing  auto, 
the  clang  of  surface  cars  and  the  sound  of  falling  poker 
chips.  T.  L.  M. 

The  Balance. 

« IT  SEEMS  to  me,”  says  the  common  consumer, 
“ that  you  and  Carbon  should  be  the  wealthiest 
men  in  this  community.” 

“ I’ll  tell  you  how  it  is,”  explains  Frijjidd,  the  ice- 
man. “ In  the  summer  Carbon  buys  his  ice  of  me,  and 
in  the  winter  I buy  my  coal  of  him.  The  consequence  is 
one  offsets  the  other,  and  there  isn’t  anything  left  for 
either  of  us.” 

Up  to  Date. 

<<  IUNDERSTAND, ” says  the  traveler  in  Arkansas, 
“ that  your  razor-back  hogs  down  here  are  really 
dangerous  if  they  become  enraged.” 

“ They  used  to  be,  mister,”  allows  the  native;  “ but 
we-all  down  yere  ain’t  so  behind  the  times  as  yo’-all  up 
there  reckon  we  are.  We  don’t  raise  nothin’  but  safety- 
razor-back  hogs  now.” 

Trying  To  Shut  Her  Out. 

<<  ^"'ONDUCTOR, ” complained  the  lank  spinster  pas- 
senger, “ that  man  in  the  opposite  seat  is  wink- 
ing at  me !” 

“ He  says  he  doesn’t  mean  to  wink  at  you,  ” explained 
the  car  official.  “ He’s  trying  to  keep  the  eye  that’s 
turned  toward  you  shut,  ma’am.” 


7^E  INDIAN  SUMMER  OF  FOOTBALL. 


2.  Youngsters — “Score  one  point!” 


YES;  THEY  DO  RIP  UP  THE  OLD  TOWN  IN 
A HURRY  THESE  DAYS! 


What  He  Meant. 

Abrams — “ I don’t  see  your  husband  any  more,  Mrs. 


Thanksgiving  Day. 

THANKSGIVING  DAY  draws  near;  the  h«n  with 
pensive  eye 

Reflects  upon  the  prospect  queer — she’ll  soon  be  chicken 
pie. 


The  turkey’s  voice  is  stilled;  chagrin  has  choked  his 
breath. 

’Tis  hard  to  know  that  he’ll  be  filled  with  chestnuts  after 
death. 

The  pig  has  cause  to  fret;  in  vain  he  cries,  “ Fair  play !” 
For  what  a-roasting  he  will  get  upon  Thanksgiving  Day  ! 


One  Happy  One. 

BY  WILLIAM  J.  LAMPTON. 

Money  doesn’t  count  a bit  with  me.” — Mrs.  Stuyvesant  Fish. 


AH,  HAPPY  lady! 

Blessed  she 
Who  doesn’t  care 
For  X or  V, 

While  everywhere 
The  rest  of  us 
Just  yearn  to  be 
An  octopus. 


How  good  it  is 
To  be  the  one 
Who  doesn’t  want 
To  jump  and  run 
Whenever 

Anywhere  around 
The  jingling  needful 
Makes  a sound. 


Isaacs.” 

Mrs.  Isaacs — “No;  my 
husband  iss  sifck. ” 

Abrams — “ How  iss  he 
getting  along?” 

Mrs.  Isaacs — “ He  iss 
failing  fast.” 

Abrams — “ I didn’t  in- 
quire about  his  business. 

How  iss  his  health?” 

The  Day  After. 

Broadstreet  (telephon- 
ing)— '“Maggie,  what  is 
there  for  dinner  to-night?” 

Maggie — “ I think  it’s 
turkey,  sir;  cold,  sir,  with 
mince  pie.” 

Broadstreet — “Ahem!  Well,  you  may  tell  Mrs. 

Broadstreet* that  I shall  be  detained  at  the  office  until  a 


2.  — —How  lucky  to  stumble  on  thia  !- 


The  wide,  wide  world, 
Excepting  her, 

Is  out  to  grab 
The  sinister 
And  shifting  stuff,  <■ 
Which  seems  to  be 
The  measure  of 
All  energy. 

Mankind  is  rushing 
To  and  fro, 

To  swipe  the  scads 
That  come  and  go; 
He  makes  pursuit 
His  constant  god, 
And  bows  before 
The  Demon  Wad. 

Ah,  happy  lady! 

It  is  well 
That  money  does 
Not  work  its  spell 
On  her  a bit. 

Ah,  would  it  were 
That  more  of  us 

Were  more  like  her! 


late  hour.” 

The  Baby  Grand. 

BY  WALTER  BEVERLEY  CRANE. 

THE  Baby  Grand  was  not  so  bad ; 

The  music  made  was  gay  and  glad; 
And  though  we  have  the  next-door  flat, 
We  didn’t  mind  a thing  like  that, 

For  music  is  our  fad. 

A year  of  melody  we  had, 

And  then  there  came  a little  lad. 

The  stork,  he  brought  him,  lusty,  fat — 
The  Baby  Grand ! 

And  oh!  our  walls  we’ve  had  to  pad — 
The  music’s  wild,  the  music’s  sad. 

And  father  cries,  “ Oh,  darn  that  brat!” 
But  mother,  bless  her ! says  quite  pat, 

“ The  Baby  Grand !” 


YES  ; THEY  DO  RIP  UP  THE  OLD  TOWN  IN 
A HURRY  THESE  DAYS! 


4.  the  march  of  progress,  it  really  seems 


. The  South  and  the  North. 

<<  ¥T’S  a confounded  shame  the  way  the  whites  down 
* South  persecute  the  negro  for  slight  offenses!” 
asserted  the  New  Yorker,  bound  for  the  baseball  game. 

“You’re  right !”  seconded  his  companion.  “It’s  a 
stain  upon  the  reputation  of  the  peaceable  portion  of 
the  nation.” 

“ Indeed  it  is!  Why,  only  day  before  yesterday,  in 
one  city  down  there,  they  captured  a poor  nigger  who 
had  scared  a white  woman  in  some  way,  and  would  have 
killed  him  but  for  the  intervention  of  a cool-headed 
officer.” 

“ Awful,  awful!  By  the  way,  what  ails  your  voice? 
You’re  as  hoarse  as  I am.” 

“ Oh,  I was  one  of  the  mob  that  chased  that  miserable 
umpire  down  the  street  after  the  game  yesterday,  and  I 
overdid  myself  yelling  at  them  to  string  him  up.” 

“ Gad  I I was  in  that  mob,  too.” 

He  Knew 


A Mighty  Pen. 

Farmer  Scrabblegrass—“  Th’  feller  as  said  he  would 
rather  write  than  be  Presi- 
dent wa’n’t  so  far  wrong, 
after  all.” 

Farmer  Stubbs  — 

“Ya-as;  but  we  can’t  all 
get  a dollar  a word  fer  a 
jungle  story.” 

A True  Nobleman. 

PMRE  had  broken  out  in 
* the  royal  palace,  and 
it  was  evident  that  the 
historic  old  pile  must  be 
consumed,  with  many  of 
its  unfortunate  inmates. 

A frantic  figure  was  seen 
rushing  down  a long  cor- 
ridor. It  was  Clarence 
Reginald  Fitzherbert  Fitz- 

allan  Fitzsimmons,  Earl  Hawtyfellowe,  Baron  Jewel- 
zinsoke,  Lord  of  the  King’s  Silk  Garters,  Clerk  of  the 
Royal  Jack  Pot,  etc.,  etc. 

“ Hold!”  shouted  one  of  the  Imperial  Hook  and  Lad- 
der Volunteers.  “ You  must  not  precede  the  other  noble 
lords.  Your  rank  is  No.  29  at  the  king’s  table.” 

“Right,  trusty  fellow !”  cried  the  earl.  “I  might 
have  forgotten.” 

With  that  he  took  up  his  stand  in  the  great  corridor 
until  the  Duke  of  Richbloode  had  donned  a neat  walking 
suit  and  strolled  out,  and  Lord  Graveowle,  who  was  No. 
28,  had  finished  bathing  and  was  carried  down  the  lad- 
der. After  that  a burning  shield  fell  upon  the  noble 
earl,  and  the  walls  of  the  historic  palace  collapsed. 
They  buried  him  in  the  Abbey,  with  this  inscription  on 
his  tablet:  “ He  died  in  his  regular  order.” 

Shop  Talk. 

Cigar  dealer — “ Yes,  that  is  my  wife  over  there — 
the  one  with  the  fine  wrapper,  American  filler  and  per- 
fecto  shape. 

19 


Medium  (after  the  seance) — “Can  any  one  tell  me 
how  spirits  could  have  gotten  into  the  room  and  moved 

the  furniture  when  all  the 
doors  were  locked?” 

Bright  boy  (raising  his 
hand) — “ With  skeleton 
keys.” 


Beware. 

Wife  (looking  up  from 
newspaper) — “This  paper 
says  that  kissing  is  dan- 
gerous because  of  germs. 
Now  I should  like  to  know 
what  one  might  catch  by 
kissing?” 

Husband  (wearily)  — 
“Husbands.” 

Special  Days. 

First  boarder  — “Not 
hungry,  or  is  it  a fast  day?” 

Second  boarder — “ Yes;  this  is  hash  Wednesday.” 


Imaginary  Conversation  between  a Medium  and  a Spirit 

By  RALPH  BERGENGREN. 


MEDIUM — Did  I hear  anybody  rap?  Come  right 

Spirit — I am  in. 

Medium — Hey  ? 

Spirit — I am  a spirit. 

Medium — Spirit  your  grandmother!  You  can’t  fool 
me!  I’ve  made  too  many  spirits  myself. 

Spirit — -Very  poor  ones,  like  most  amateurs.  Fat 

and  unimaginative  mortal 

Medium — I ain’t  fat!  I’m  dignified. 

Spirit — Dignified  and  unimaginative  mortal,  have 
you  ever  made  a star? 

Medium — I ain’t. no  theatrical  trust,  and  you  ain’t  no 
spirit.  Fat!  Me! 

Spirit — Did  you  ever  see  any  spirits — outside  of  a 
bottle? 

Medium — Yes;  in  a glass.  Ha,  ha!  He,  he!  If 
you  was  a real  spirit  you’d  manifest  yourself  in  a 

spirituelle  way — play  a tambourine,  ring  a bell 

Spirit — Think  you  the  immortal  soul  has  nothing  bet- 
ter to  do  with  eternity  than  playing  a tambourine,  ring- 
ing a bell  or  tickling  with  spirit  finger  the  ribs  of  even 
a younger  and  more  attractive  medium? 

Medium — If  there  was  any  real  spirits  I guess  they’d 
be  mad  at  us.  We  do  make  ’em  kinder  ridiculous. 

Spirit — My  dear  medium,  real  spirits  do  not  get 
angry.  They  have  too  much  time.  You  simply  amuse 
us. 

Medium — Humph ! 

Spirit — You  describe  yourself  perfectly.  You  are 
humps.  It  puzzles  us  sometimes  to  decide  how  it  hap- 
pens that  those  who  pre- 
tend to  be  the  representa- 
tives of  the  light  and  bodi- 
less are  invariably  so  fat 
and 

Medium — Fat!  It  seems 
as  if  you  was  possessed 
with  that  word  fat ! Bein’ 
a medium  demands  a dig- 
nified an’  imposin’  figger. 

Any  spirit  ought  to  be 
able  to  see  that. 

Spirit  — Any  spirit 
ought  to  be  able  to  see 
you.  However,  we’ll  let 
it  go  at  dignified.  Did  it 
ever  occur  to  you  that  you, 
too,  have  a soul? 

Medium — Me? 

Spirit  — Even  you. 

You  have  a soul.  That 
soul  is  capable  of  infi- 
nite suffering.  When 
you  burn  your  finger, 
did  you  ever  think  how 
it  would  feel  if  it  kept 


on  burning,  and  kept  on,  and  kept  on,  and  kept  on, 
and— — 

Medium — Stop  it!  You  make  me  nervous. 

Spirit— Let  me  give  you  something  else  to  think 
about.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  if  your — er — 
spirits  were  a little  more  like  the  real  thing  you  would 
attract  a larger  audience. 

Medium — Now  you’re  talkin’.  What  do  you  think  I 
ought  to  have  the  spirits  do  to  ’em? 

Spirit — Omit  the  spirits.  Choose  some  other  occupa- 
tion, and  begin  to  work  upward  toward  that  mortal 
standard  of  commonplace  honesty  that  is  the  first  step 
toward  a comfortable  spirit  existence.  You  might  begin 
by  selling  tips  on  the  stock  market. 

Medium — That  ain’t  no  better. 

Spirit — It  is  less  presumptuous  than  tips  on  eternity. 
Then  you  might  start  a matrimonial  bureau.  Then  you 
might  manufacture  powders  for  improving  the  com- 
plexion. Then 

Medium — Well,  you  do  beat  me!  What  you  drivin’ 
at,  anyway? 

Spirit — I am  suggesting  a slow  evolution  demanding 
a genuine,  although  low,  order  of  intelligence,  such  as 
you  possess.  When  you  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal 
coil  of  flesh 

Medium — Flesh ! 

Spirit— l speak  in  figures.  When  worms  have  eaten 
you 

Medium — If  you  can’t  find  any  prettier  figures  to 
speak  in,  I’m  goin’  out  and  get  my  dinner.  Spirit! 
You’re  a joker,  that’s  what  you  are!  Guess  I’d  know 

it  if  there  was  any  real 
spirits! 

She  Was  Wise. 

ISS  FISH,”  re- 
marked the  young 
man,  as  he  placed  his  hat 
on  his  head  and  prepared 
to  depart  for  home,  “ I 
proposed  for  your  hand  two 
hours  ago,  and  I await 
your  answer  with  bated 
breath. ” 

“Mr.  Smallchange,” 
smiled  the  young  lady, 
“ I’m  afraid  you  will  have 
to  bait  your  breath  with 
something  besides  onions 
and  cloves  to  catch  this 
kind  of  a fish.” 

Teacher — “ Why  didn’t 
the  lions  touch  Daniel?” 
Jnbrmn  — “They  were 
Airican  iions  and  only 
cared  for  dark  meat.” 


THE  BEST  OF  REASONS. 


“Hello,  old  man  i W nat  aie  you  doing  in  this 
secluded  corner?” 

“ Laying  in  weight  for  myself.” 


Why  I Wouldn’t  Marry  My  Wife 

( From  the  Gentlemen9 a Home  Journal.) 


CONVERSATION — as  conversations  unfortunately 
will  when  only  married  men  are  present — - 
turned  on  our  wives.  Presently  one  of  us 
asked  the  company,  “Say,  if  you  were  a young 
man  and  knew  as  much  as  you  do  now,  would 
you  marry  your  wife  again?”  — 

Personally  I do  not  believe  in  discussing 
such  questions.  As  the  proverb  says,  it’s  A, 
no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk.  It’s  a good 
deal  wiser  to  mix  water  with  what’s  left  in 
the  jug  and  blame  the  milkman.  But  the 
question  haunted  me.  I thought  it  over  at 
lunch,  and  discussed  it,  guardedly,  of  course, 
with  the  young  woman  behind  my  favorite 
lunch  counter.  As  a result — for  we  agreed 
that  it  is  always  the  wife’s  fault — I am 
about  to  dictate  to  my  stenographer  a few 
of  the  reasons  why  I should  not  marry  my 
wife  if  I bad  it  to  do  over  again.  This  I 
do  for  the  benefit  of  wives  in  general.  My 
stenographer  may  sooner  or  later  become  a 
wife  herself. 

Not  that  I mean  this  to  be  an  expose  of 
marital  infelicity.  My  own  married  life 
has  been  comparatively  successful.  We  are 
as  happy  together  as  two  cold  doughnuts 
on  the  same  plate.  But  many  a husband  craves  and 
needs  a more  complete  realization  of  his  youthful  day 


dreaming.  Few  wives  understand  the  yearnings  of 
a man’s  poetic  and  sentimental  nature. 

The  first  reason  why  I would  not  marry  my  wife  is  be- 
cause she  is  older.  This  may  seem  strange,  insomuch 


C'hi«tse  -l*Aor.-piw 

S I N <r  T ONjr 

PKor.* 


HE  SPOKE  TOO  LATE. 

Page — “She  ain’t  in,  sir.” 

Caller — “ Come,  tell  me  the  truth  and  I’ll  give  you  a dollar.  Is  she  in  ? ” 
Page — “You  should  have  spoken  before,  sir.  She  gave  me  fifty  cents 
to  *ay  she  was  out,  and  I can’t  be  a traitor.” 


THE  HEATHEN  CHINEE. 

Is  it  a wonder  that  we  abhor  the  Chinaman  ? He  has  successfully  ac- 
quired the  much-hated  cigarette  habit,  robbed  the  faithful  washerwoman 
of  her  honorable  profession,  and  now,  “bad  luck  to  him  ! ’’  he  even  deprives 
the  miserable  clothesline  of  its  duties. 


as  I knew  she  would  grow  older  when  I married  her.  I 
have,  to  a certain  extent,  grown  older  myself.  But  the 
popular  magazines  are  full  of  pictures 
of  women  whom  I know  to  be  older 
than  my  wife,  yet  who  look  at  least  ten 
or  a dozen  years  younger.  Evidently, 
therefore,  it  is  mj'  wife’s  fault.  What 
one  woman  can  do,  my  wife  ought  to  be 
able  to  do.  I cannot  blame  myself  for 
sometimes  feeling  indignant  that  she  is 
no  longer  the  shy,  sweet  creature  that 
in  one  happy  summer  week  I learned  to 
worship. 

I married  a woman  brought  up  like 
myself.  That  was  a mistake..  There 
was  almost  nothing  to  make  her  realize 
that  I am  a superior  creature,  and  when 
a wife  does  not,  day  by  day  and  hour 
by  hour,  rely  more  and  more  upon  her 
husband’s  judgment  and  experience,  a 
home  is  inevitably  divided.  There  are 
conflicts  of  opinion  that  cannot  help  but 
mar  the  translucent  delicacy  of  ideal 
matrimony.  Nothing,  for  example,  so 
handicaps  a man  in  the  battle  of  life  as 
to  have  his  wife  constantly  disagree 
with  him  in  matters  of  taste.  » 

Another  reason  why  I would  not 
marry  my  wife  is  that  she  is  more 
polite  to  me  than  to  any  other  man  of 
her  acquaintance.  Politeness,  of  course. 


THE  CRUSOE  OF  THE  FUTURE. 

Shipwrecked  on  a deserted  asteroid. 


is  necessary.  I insisted  upon  it  in  the  beginning.  But 
she  has  a special  manner  which  she  uses  to  me — a way 
of  saying,  "If  you  please,  my  dear,”  or,  "Of  course, 
if  that  is  your  opinion,”  that  I have  heard  wives  use 
to  their  husbands.  The  woman  at  the  lunch  counter  is 
polite,  but  it  is  in  a different  spirit. 

I would  not  marry  my  wife  again  because  of  her  im- 
moderate use  of  chocolate  drops.  I am  perfectly  willing 
that  my  wife  should  eat  chocolate  drops  in  moderation. 
In  fact,  I am  no  such  fool  as  not  to  know  that  if  a 
woman  cannot  eat  chocolate  drops  at  home,  she  will  go 


where  she  can.  But  I have  beseeched  her  to  moderate 
her  indulgence.  I have  sought  to  build  up  her  pride,  to 
shame  her  womanhood,  to  show  her  that  she  is  becoming 
the  slave  of  a habit.  She  positively  tastes  like  a choco- 
late drop.  She  knows  I dislike  chocolate,  and  it  makes 
no  difference.  Like  all  wives,  she  expects  caresses,  and 
yet  she  insists  upon  tasting  like  a chocolate  drop.  Even 
our  children  notice  it,  and  comment  upon  it  in  a joking 
way  that  should  nevertheless  be  taken  as  a serious  ex- 
pression of  disapprobation. 

My  wife  is  not  truly  delicate  and  refined,  as  I am. 
She  insists,  for  example,  in  taking  the  baby  in  a peram- 
bulator when  we  go  out  for  a walk.  She  likes  to  stop 
and  gawk — I can  find  no  other  word  for  it — gawk  at  the 
bargains  in  the  shop  windows.  She  stops,  right  in  the 
street,  to  speak  to  dirty-faced  urchins.  She  makes 
jokes  with  tradespeople.  She  once  allowed  me  to  see 
her  when  she  had  the  mumps.  These  things  have  been 
a terrible  burden  to  me.  If  I had  my  life  to  live  over 
again,  nothing  would  induce  me  to  undertake  them — no, 
not  even  the  proud  delight  of  being  the  father  of  six 
wonderful  children. 

These  are  only  a few  of  the  reasons  why  I would  not 
marry  my  wife,  but  they  are  enough  perhaps  to  set  some 
wives  thinking  and  introduce  into  other  homes  some- 
thing of  that  ideal  companionship  for  which  men  marry 
and  which  so  seldom  materializes.  Much  would  be  ac- 
complished if  women  would  only  realize  how  their  hus- 
bands crave  appreciation.  If  I say  to  my  own  wife, 
“ Do  you  like  my  new  suit?”  she  will  probably  answer, 
"Yes;  it  is  very  becoming,”  and  wonder  why  I asked 


NINETY-EIGHT  IN  THE  SHADE. 


The  officer — “ Here,  you,  Muggins  ! what  are  your  teeth  chattering  that  way  for  ? ” 
Muggins  (first  time  under  fire)  — “ C-c-can’t  help  it,  cap’n — I’m  c-c-cold  ! ” 


her.  Yet  I am  sure  there  is  hardly  a man  living  who 
would  not  be  made  happier  to  hear  his  wife  say,  “ Dear, 
I do  wish  you  had  a new  dress  coat,  but  you  do  look  aw- 
fully strong  and  handsome  in  that  one,  as  you  do  in 
everything.” 


“A 


R.  B. 


Charge  of  the  Fair  Brigade. 

BY  MYRTLE  CONGER. 

(With  apologies  to  the  shade  of  Lord  Tennyson.) 

HALF  a step,  half  a step, 

Half  a step  onward ! 

Over  there  the  bargains  lie 
On  the  counters  piled  so  high, 

Luring  the  unnumbered. 

Forward  the  fair  brigade! 

“ Charge  through  the  aisles !”  they  cried. 
(Three  know  what  they  want  to  buy — ■ 
Anxious  unnumbered !) 

Bargains  to  right  of  them ; 

Bargains  to  left  of  them; 

Bargains  in  front  of  them, 

There  to  be  plundered. 

Storm  they  with  right  good-will ; 

Boldly  they  push  and  well; 

Into  the  jaws  of  death, 

Where  the  best  bargains  sell, 

Push  the  unnumbered ! 

When  will  their  courage  fade? 

Oh,  the  wild  charge  they  made! 

All  the  men  wondered, 

Yet  “ honored  ” all  the  charges  made, 
As  oft  before  they’d  paid 
For  their  wives’  plunder. 

Forward  the  fair  brigade ! 

Happy  unnumbered ! 


A Prospectus. 

BY  STUART  B.  STONE. 

S IS  customary  among  publications,”  said  the 
Cobville  Scimitar,  “ we  will  give  a brief  out- 
line of  what  is  in  store  during  the  coming 
year  for  our  subscribers,  as  well  as 
for  the  army  of  deadheads,  embracing 
the  various  local  preachers,  the  county 
correspondents  that  never  write,  the 
editor’s  relatives,  the  patent-medicine 
companies  and  the  skinflint  advertising 
agents  ; also  Hamp  Logsdon  and  Bart 
Higbee,  who  borrow  papers  every  Friday 
morning,  regular  as  sunshine. 

“ To  begin  with,  the  Scimitar  will  be 
enlarged  from  four  columns,  six  pages, 
to  six  columns,  four  pages;  and  the  type 
that  Bill  Dugan  mashed  with  an  [empty 
whiskey  jug  last  Christmas  will  be 
replaced  by  new  material.  As  the 
‘ Cobville  ’ in  our  electrotyped  head- 
line was  thrown  through  the  front  win- 
dow and  severely  dented  when  Roaring 
Bill  Hemlock  called  on  us  the  other 
day,  the  name  of  this  paper  in  future 
will  be  merely  the  Scimitar. 

“ Many  new  art  features  will  be 
added.  The  editor’s  picture  will  be  run 
at  the  head  of  the  editorial  column,  and 
we  have  secured  a cut  of  the  court- 


2? 


& 


CHINESE  TO  HIM. 

Farrell — “ Kin  ye  make  out  phat  th’  inshcription  manes,  Dinny  ? ” _ 

Finnigan — “Oi’m  not  quoite  sure,  but  Oi  think  a free  thranslation  would  be  ‘2,000  shirts,  6,000  collars  an 
1,000  pairs  av  cuffs.’  ” 


r 


i 


YOUNG  AMERICA  IN  THE  NEAR  FUTURE. 


SEEING  THE  SIGHTS. 


Johnny — “ That  low  building  on  the  right,  Uncle  Peter,  is  our  high  school, 
and  the  high  structure  on  the  left  is  the  new  Low  Building.”  • 

Unde  Peter— “ Guess  we’d  better  git  back  to  the  house,  Johnny.  I’m  ’fraid 
I’m  gittin’  twisted.” 


heretofore,  contain  the  choicest  imagi- 
native efforts  of  Colonel  Tom  B iggs 
and  Tilkins,  the  lightning-rod  agent. 
In  ‘ Heard  on  the  Streets  ’ we  will  en- 
deavor to  print  the  name  of  every 
man  who  pays  us  money  or  good,  sound 
vegetables,  cordwood,  molasses  and 
tree  sugar  on  subscription.  ‘ Halls  of 
Death  ’ will  continue  to  print  obit- 
uaries showing  real  sentiment  and 
humor,  but  these  must  be  limited  to 
one  page  in  length  and  to  forty  stanzas 
of  poetry. 

“ All  in  all,  the  Scimitar  will  con- 
tinue to  be  the  unterrified,  uncon- 
vincible,  incorruptible  organ  of  the 
great  common  people.  Now  is  the 
time  to  subscribe,  as  we  are  needing 
the  money.  One  dollar  cash,  or  one- 
fifty  where  taken  in  farm  and  dairy 
products.” 


Knicker  — “Bulgaria  has  declared 
itself  independent  of  Turkey.” 

Henpekt  — “I  know  just  how  it 
feels.” 


house  and  the  Golden  Rule  Store,  to  be 
printed  on  special  occasions.  In  addition, 
we  are  considering  the  purchase  of  a can- 
non and  flag  for  the  Fourth  of  July,  and 
pictures  of  Abe  Lincoln  and  N.  Bonaparte, 
which,  as  is  well  known,  will  suffice  for 
many  of  our  leading  citizens. 

“ Early  in  the  new  year  we  will  begin 
the  publication  of  a series  of  articles  from 
the  pen  of  our  esteemed  merchant,  Mr.  Sam 
Potter,  on  ‘Well-known  Customers  of  a 
Corner  Grocery.’  The  first  of  these 
sketches  is  ‘ Dune  Skaggs,  the  Prune 
Eater,’  and  it  abounds  with  gossipy,  little- 
known  information.  For  instance,  the 
author  declares  that  Mr.  Skaggs  has  de- 
voured 23,816  free  prunes  in  the  seventeen 
years  he  has  visited  the  Golden  Rule. 
Other  articles  in  this  series  are  ‘ Bill 
Beeler,  the  Man  Who  Will  Pay  To-morrow,’ 
and  - Elijah  Boone,  the  Borrower  of  To- 
bacco.’ 

“ We  have  arranged  with  Colonel  Ellerby 
Hawkes  for  a series  of  reminiscent  papers 
on  ‘ Easy  Marks  Who  Have  Played  Poker  in 
Cobville.’  Other  special  features  will  be 
‘ My  Wife’s  Lifework,’  by  Saul  Lazie  ; and 
‘Our  Country — Can  We  Save  It?’  a sym- 
posium by  the  schoolmaster,"  the  colored 
Baptist  preacher,  the  jailer,  Uncle  Silas 
Smith  and  the  hardware  drummer  that 
comes  every  Saturday. 

“ The  usual  interesting  departments  will 
be  continued.  ‘ Our  Noble  Liars  ’ will,  as 


WOULD  SPOIL  IT  ALL. 

He — “When  we  are  married  I will  put  all  my  property  in  your 
name.  ” 

She — “The  idea!  You  know  there  is  no  fun  spending  one’s 
own  money  ” 


A FALL  PASTORAL. 


Happiness. 

*1*HE  YOUNG  poet  had  just 
finished  what  he  consid- 
ered to  be  a work  of  real  in- 
spiration, and,  rising  from  his 
table,  he  hastened  upstairs  to 
where  his  little  wife,  a bride 
of  six  weeks,  was  sitting  darn- 
ing his  socks. 

“Listen,  sweetheart,”  he 
whispered  tenderly.  “ I have 
just  written  this.” 

And  he  began  to  read.  He 
put  his  whole  soul  into  the 
reading.  His  gestures  were 
graceful;  his  intonation  per- 
fect. The  whole  spirit  of  his 
beautiful  poem  breathed  forth 
as  he  threaded  his  way  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end  of 

his  theme,  and  when  he  had  finished  he  looked  at  her, 
awaiting  her  verdict. 

For  a time  she  was  silent. 

“ Well,  dear  heart,”  he  said,  “ tell  me  what  you  are 
thinking.” 

“I  was  wondering,  dearest” 

“What?” 

“Whether  the  butcher  was  not  awfully  late  with 
that  liver,”  she  replied. 

This  British  Spelling! 

A SUNDAY-SCHOOL  teacher  named  Beauchamp 
To  the  woods  took  her  children  to  teauchamp. 
But  sundry  mosquitoes 
Discovered  her  neat  hose, 

And  stung  her  before  she  could  reauchamp. 


An  Unfortunate  Question. 

A YOUNG  Celt,  just  over  from  the  old  sod,  applied 
* “ at  the  office  of  a big  New  York  establishment  for 
work. 

“You  say  you  have  a brother  working  here  in  this 
shop?  What’s  his  name?”  inquired  the  superintendent. 

“Murphy,  sor.” 

“ But  there  are  several  Murphys  here.  What  kind  of 
a job  has  your  brother?  What  does  he  do?” 

“ Oi  don’t  know  what  he  does,  but  he  italls  it  a— a 
cinch  job,  sor.” 

Obliging,  Yet  Grateful. 

<<  TT  IS  very  kind  of  you,”  said  the  lady  to  her  stout 
husband  as  he  knelt  before  her  to  put  on  her  over- 
shoes. 

“ Don’t  mention  it,  my  dear,”  he  replied.  “ Never- 
theless, I am  glad  you  are  not  a centipede.” 

No  Danger. 

Excited  woman — “ Are  you  going  to  run  away  with 
me?” 

Reckless  driver  (slightly  in- 
toxicated)— “Sorry,  mum; 
but — but  I can’t  oblige  you. 
I’m  mar-married  already.” 


^pHE  SUPERIOR  person  who 
* looks  upon  making  love  as 
the  occupation  of  fools  is  guilty 
of  contempt  of  court  and  should 
be  treated  accordingly. 


ii^l'HEY  say  Baker  is  col- 
* lecting  old  knockers.” 
“ I know  it.  I’ve  met  his 
wife.  ” 


OPEN  TO  CONVICTION. 


H 


Kismet. 

OW  OFTEN  in  the  stilly  night 


I’ve  barked  my  shins  on  every  flight, 
And  cursed  the  irony  of  it, 

^bat  I,  and  not  the  gas,  was  lit. 


A COUPLE  OF  SPOONBILLS  ON  THEIR 
HONEYMOON. 

“ Ah,  beloved,  at  last  we  are  alone!  ” 

“ Yes;  far  from  the  rubbering  crowd!” 


A Gift  without  the  Giver 

By  PORTER  EMERSON  BROWNE 


(Auflior  of  “ Daly,  the  Troubadour.”  “The  Prodigal,”  and  other  stories,) 


SLOWLY  and  bashfully,  yet  insistently,  Mr. 

Flannigan  thrust  his  two  hundred  and  thirty 
pounds  between  a fat  lady  with  many 
1 bundles  and  a thin  lady  without  any,  and 
f fronted,  in  diffident  desperation,  the  tired 
saleswoman,  worn  with  Christmas  shoppers 
and  fool  questions. 

“I  want  to  git,”  he  said  mechanically,  for  it  was 
the  eleventh  time  that  he  had  repeated  the  remark  in 
that  one  store,  “ a prisint  for  a ilderly  gintleman.” 
“Phonographs  only  at  this  counter,”  returned  the 
saleslady.  “Do  you  want  one  of  them?” 

Mr.  Flannigan  rubbed  a scraggy  chin  with  a stumpy 
finger. 

“ No,”  he  said;  and  then,  “ What  are  they?” 
“There’s  one  playing  now — at  the  end  of  the  coun- 
ter, there,  ” returned  the  saleswoman.  ‘ ‘ C-a-a-a-a-a-ash ! 
Say,  Looey,  d’yer 
wanter  keep  this 
lady  waitin’  all 
night?” 

Mr.  Flannigan 
edged  his  way 
through  throngs 
of  clustering  fem- 
ininity, obsessed 
with  the  lust  of 
shopping,  to  the 
end  of  the  coun- 
ter, and  there  re- 
mained for  a long 
three  minutes. 

Then  he  edged  his 
way  back  again. 

“How  much 
are  they?”  he  de- 
manded of  the 
saleslady. 

“ All  the  way 
from  eleven-fifty 
up,”  was  the  re- 
sponse. “ Records 
is  twenty-five,  fif- 
ty, seventy  - five 
and  one  dollar — 
some  one-fifty.” 

“ Give  me  a 
’liven-fifty  wan,” 
requested  Mr. 

Flannigan. 

“ How  many 
records?”  asked 
the  girl. 


THE  LATEST  ARRIVAL. 
Another  case  of  swelled  head. 


“ Six — twinty-foive-cint  wans.” 

“ Any  particular  toons  or  recitations?” 

“Pick  me  out  some  good,  frish  wans;  thot’s  all.” 
And  it  was  done. 

****** 

It  was  not  without  excitement  that,  on  Christmas 
morning,  Mr.  Kerrigan  opened  the  large  wooden  box 
that  contained  the  phonograph,  and  picked  therefrom  a 
card.  This  he  took  to  the  only  window  in  the  flat  that 
admitted  more  than  a semblance  of  daylight,  and  read: 

To  Mr.  Martin  Kerrigan, 
from  his  old  friend, 

W.  J.  Flannigan. 

MIRRY  CHRISMUS. 

Then  he  looked  in  the  box. 

“ Now  phwhat  th’  divvle!”  he  said;  and  then,  “ Ho- 

noria,  Honoria! 
Phwhat  d’yuh 
make  av  this? 
Dom’d  if  Flanni- 
gan ain’t  sint  me 
a tin  horn  and  six 
boxes  av  talcum 
powdher ! Be  hiv- 
ins ! av  all  th’  — 
But  one  glance 
solved  the  mys- 
tery for  his  eru- 
dite and  sophisti- 
cated offspring. 

“Oh!”  she 
cried  delightedly, 
“it’s  a phony- 
graft!” 

“A  whatty- 
graft?”  queried 
her  father  puz- 
zledly.  “ Though 
y e z c ’ n thrust 
Flannigan  for  get- 
tin’  nixt  to  anny 
old  koind  av  a 
graft  there  is 
aroond.” 

“ It’3  a phony- 
graft!”  repeated 
his  daughter.  “It 
makes  tunes  and 
things  that  sound 
like  real  music. 
Oh,  let’s  try  it! 
Shall  we?” 


Her  father  grunted. 

“Hilp  yuhself,”  he 
said;  “go  as  far  as  yez 
loikes.  * * * Phwhy 

di’n’  he  sind  me  a gallon 
av  Mon’gahela  loike  Oi 
sint  him.  Flannigan’s  a 
good  felly,  but  he  ain’t 
got  anny  sinse,  and  always 
was.” 

Trying  to  hide  his  in- 
terest, and  succeeding  but 
indifferently  well,  he 
watched  his  daughter  as- 
semble the  component 
parts  of  his  Christmas 
gift.  And  anon  she  turned 
to  him. 

“There!”  she  said. 

“ It’s  all  ready.  Shall  I 
turn  it  on,  or  will  you?” 

“ You  c’n  be  th’  shtart- 
er,”  he  said,  withlofty  in- 
difference; and,  with  a 
little  giggle  of  delighted 
anticipation,  she  turned 
the  lever. 

At  first  there  was  but 
a raucous  churning,  and 
then  a vague  and  non-un- 
derstandable  announce- 
ment, given  in  a metallic 
baritone.  Then  a few 
more  throaty  revolutions, 
and  there  came  from  the 
mouth  of  the  horn : 

“ Dhrunk  again,  eh,  ye  big  gaby?” 

The  next  few  words  were  lost  in  the  sudden  and 
angry  “ Phwhat’s  thot?”  that  came  from  the  thin  lips 
of  Mr.  Kerrigan. 

There  followed  from  the  phonograph : 

“ Don’t  talk  to  me,  ye  fat  ould  blathershkite ! Yuh 
folks  would  have  been  doin’  this  counthry  a koindness 
av  they  had  shtrangled  yez  at  burth.  Yez  ain’t  good 
f’r  nothin’ — yez  don’t  know  nothin’ — yez  are  a disgrace 
to  humanity  and  a practickle  joke  on  mankoind !” 

“ Ain’t  it  grand!”  exclaimed  his  daughter;  but  Mr. 
Kerrigan  raised  a clenched  hand  warningly. 

“ L’ave  it  finish,”  he  commanded;  “ l’ave  it  finish. 
Thot’s  all.  Just  Pave  it  finish.” 

On  chattered  the  phonograph  blithely : 

“ So  ye’re  gittin’  mad,  are  ye,  ye  pin-headed  ould 
omadhoun?  G’wan!  Yez  couldn’t  lick  a postage 
stamp!  Yez  ain’t  got  loife  enough  tuh  turn  over  in 
bed!  You  foight?  Huh!  Me  ould  gran’mother  licks 
eight  loike  yez  ivery  marnin’  before  breakfast,  just  to 
git  a appetoite!  You  foight?  Don’t  make  me  laff !” 
And  that  was  all.  For  out  the  window  went  the 
phonograph,  there  sent  by  one  blow  from  the  heavy  fist 
of  the  enraged  Mr.  Kerrigan. 

“ Ob,  father!”  cried  the  girl,  in  surprised  tearfulness. 


HIS  OWN  INTEREST  AT  HEART. 

“ Why  did  Conem  advise  Smith’s  daughter  to  go  abroad 
and  study  music  ? He  knows  she  has  no  talent.” 

“Why,  you  ought  to  be  wise.  He  lives  next  door  to 
Smith.” 


“Don’t  ‘Oh,  father!' 
me!”  stormed  her  parent, 
as  he  reached  wrathfully 
for  his  hat.  “ Not  aven 
a dom’d  machine  c’n  talk 
to  me  loike  thot  an’  git 
away  wid  it!  An’  as  for 

that  scut  Flannigan  ” 

* * * 

It  was  afterward  de- 
clared, by  those  who  were 
fortunate  enough  to  see  it, 
to  be  one  of  the  prettiest 
impromptu  little  affairs  of 
its  kind  that  one  may  ever 
hope  to  witness. 

It  lasted  only  one  round, 
to  be  sure;  but  that  one 
round  endured  for  full  fif- 
teen minutes  by  the  bar- 
tender’s watch,  and  he 
was  not  the  man  to  exag- 
gerate. 

That  same  gentleman 
gave  out  the  decision  that 
it  was  a draw,  though  sev- 
eral spectators  asserted 
that  the  fight  was  clearly 
Mr.  Flannigan’s  on  points. 

Nor  did  there  spring 
from  it  a feud.  For  after 
the  battle,  you  know,  there 
was  ample  time  and  ample 
leisure  for  explanation  and 
elucidation;  and  the  bar- 
tender, who  was  a large 
man  and  who  had  a phonograph  of  his  own,  undertook, 
and  successfully,  to  pour  oil  on  the  troubled  waters, 
the  while  putting  beefsteak  on  a troubled  eye. 
****** 

Mr.  Flannigan  slowly,  twingingly,  reached  for  the 
Mon’gahela  bottle. 

“ Th’  nixt  toime  Oi  give  a Chris’mas  prisint  loike 
thot,”  he  declared,  “ it’ll  be  to  a Orangey,  on  Saint 
Pathrick’s  Day;  and  Oi’ll  know  what  Oi’m  givin’,  be 
hivins!  * * * Pass  th’ pitcher,  Martin.  That’s  th’ 

b’y.” 


Fairly  Good  Size. 

¥ HEARD  that  your  rich  uncle  gave  you  a good- 
sized  check  for  Christmas,”  says  the  man  with 
the  sharp  nose  and  the  interrogative  eyes. 

“Yes,”  answers  the  man  with  the  square  chin  and 
the  glad  smile. 

“ I suppose  as  rich  a man  as  he  is  could  send  you  a 
pretty  big  check?” 

“ Yes.  This  was  a good-sized  one,  for  a fact.” 

“ If  it’s  a fair  question,  how  big  was  it?” 

“ Three  inches  wide  by  eight  inches  long — he  has 
them  engraved  for  himself  specially,  you  know.” 


Reflections  of  Uncle  Ezra 


OBODY  ever  knows  a poet  is  alive  until  he 
dead. 

I see  a New  York  woman  has  offered  a prize 
for  the  best  skin  food.  The  best  skin  food  I 
know  of  is  oranges  or  bananners. 

Why  are  folks  makin’  so  much  fuss  about  the  great 
achievement  of  buildin’  a tunnel  under  the  East  River? 
It  would  be  a blame  sight  more  remarkable  if  somebody 
should  build  a tunnel  over  it. 

Most  of  the  big  guns  in  the  navy  are  smooth  bores, 
and,  by  heck!  most  of  the  big  guns  in  politics  are 
smooth  bores,  too. 

There  was  a poker  party  to  Anse  Hilliker’s  house  one 
night  last  week,  and  they  used  cold  pancakes  for  chips. 
While  Anse  was  dealin’  a hand,  his  youngest  kid  slipped 
up  behind  him  and  ate  up  $33.65. 

Elmer  Spink  stuttered  something  fierce  and  wanted 
to  cure  it,  so  he  got  married  and  hasn’t  had  a chance  to 
stutter  since. 

If  you  want  to  find  out  for  sure  whether  you  are  a 
great  writer,  write  a book  and  lyrics  for  a musical 
comedy.  If  some  manager  produces  it  you  are  not  a 
great  writer. 

About  the  mostem- 
barrassin’  thing  I 
know  of  is  for  a feller 
to  accidentally  drop 
his  false  teeth  in  the 
soup  at  a church  oys- 
ter supper. 

The  styles  in  plug 
hats  change  so  often 
that  a feller  can  hard- 
ly wear  one  more  than 
once  or  twice  before 
it  is  away  behind  the 
times.  Hod  Peters 
only  wore  his  once — 
the  time  Grover  Cleve- 
land was  first  elected 
— and  it  ain’t  in  style 
at  all  now. 

Methuselah  ain’t 
entitled  to  so  much 
credit,  after  all,  when 
we  stop  to  think  there 
were  no  forty-candle- 
power  oatmobiles 
chasin’  around  the  as- 
phalt in  his  day  and 
age. 

Almost  everything 
has  a mission  in  life, 
exceptin’  mission  fur- 
niture. 

Out  here  in  the  tall 
grass  the  smoke  nui- 


sance is  mostly  confined  to  the  old  women.  Grandma 
Whipple  is  109  years  of  age,  and  has  smoked  and  Fletch- 
erized  the  weed  all  the  days  of  her  life. 

The  trouble  with  an  oatmobile  is  that  when  it  gets 
to  be  six  months  old  it  is  nine  years  behind  the  style. 

Hank  Tumms  says  his  wife’s  coffee  is  so  bad  that 
there  are  plenty  of  grounds  for  divorce. 

Hod  Peters  has  a new  fall  suit.  William  Tibbitts 
has  started  it  agin  him  for  a grocery  bill. 

William  Tibbitts,  our  popular  and  congenial  grocery- 
man,  has  got  a new  stock  of  thermometers,  but  ain’t 
sellin’  many  of  them.  Any  feller  that  has  to  go  and 
rubber  at  a thermometer  to  find  out  whether  he  is  hot  or 
cold,  must  be  a plumb  fool. 

Uncle  Eben  Harkins  got  a photograph  of  his  brother 
out  West  the  other  day,  but  throwed  it  away,  thinkin’ 
somebody  had  sent  him  a comic  valentine. 

Hank  Purdy  says  the  difference  between  a clock  and 
a woman  is  that  a clock  will  run  itself  down  if  it  gets 
a chance,  and  a woman  will  run  somebody  else  down. 

City  folks  don’t  have  to  can  fruit  like  us  country 
folks  do,  bekuz  they  can  find  plenty  of  preserved  peaches 

in  the  choruses  of 
the  musical  - comical 
shows. 

There  is  a special 
job  for  shorthand  writ- 
ers in  heaven.  They 
have  to  turn  in  and 
help  the  recordin’  an- 
gel every  four  years 
durin’  the  national 
campaigns. 

An  Author's 
Christmas. 

ELL,  Scrib- 
bler, old  boy, 
how  did  Santa  use 
you?” 

“ Not  very  gen- 
erously. I got  three 
rejections,  two  dollars 
for  a joke  and  a dun 
from  the  butcher.” 


ROWN  is  the 
most  narrow- 
minded man  I ever 
met.” 

“ So?” 

“Yes.  Whenever 
two  thoughts  get  into 
his  head  at  the  same 
time  they  bump  into 
each  other." 


By  ROY  K.  MOULTON 

is 


. •)  f 7 ; 


. - 


44 


w 


44 


B 


A VERY  MODERN  CHIi  D. 

Father — “ Tommy,  what  do  you  want  for  Ch  istmas  this  year  ?’’ 
Tommy — “ I’m  going  to  ask  Santa  Claus  to  gi\  e me  a divorce,  ’cause 
Jane  and  I have  quarreled  so  much  lately.  ” 


THE  JOURNEY'S  BEGINNING. 


WHEN  the  good  saint  sails  from  the  very  north 
To  the  shore  where  his  steeds  are  standing. 
The  wild  waves  sing  like  a deep  bassoon, 
And  the  ice-floes  clash  and  the  sea-gulls  croon, 
And  the  weird  lights  flash  to  his  fleet  balloon. 

As  it  flits  toward  the  frozen  landing. 


And  a mermaid  blows  him  a far-off  kiss, 

On  a wave-tossed  ice-floe  rocking ; 

And  she  sighs  to  a seal,  as  she  strokes  its  back, 
“ There  goes  old  Kris,  with  a bulging  pack. 

But  why  should  he  stop  for  us,  alack  1 
When  none  of  us  wears  a stocking  ?” 


fiURCBB  JOHNSON. 


The  Surprise 

By  LURANA  W.  SHELDON 


THE  WEEK  before  Christmas  Hezekiah  Appleby 
took  his  neighbor,  Deacon  White,  into  his  con- 
fidence. 

“It’s  a leetle  lonesome  at  home,  deacon,” 
he  began.  “ Now  that  Maria  is  married  an’  livin’  up 
at  Pickleville,  an’  Amos  is  away  tew  school,  me  an’ 
Hannah  ain’t  as  chipper  as  we  mout  be,  an’  I wuz  think- 
in’  I’d  like  tew  brighten  things  up  a bit  fer  Christmas. 
Make  it  a leetle  more  as  it  used  tew  be,”  he  added. 

The  deacon  chewed  a straw  reflectively,  and  a nod 
of  the  head  showed  that  he  appreciated  the  situation. 

“Yew  know  how  ther  children  used  tew  s’prise  us 
with  presents  on  Christmas  Day?”  went  on  Hezekiah. 

“ Tew  be  sure  they  used  tew,”  was  the  answer,  with 
another  nod. 

“ Wa-al,  I wuz  thinkin’  I’d  s’prise  Hannah  .jest  that 
there  way,”  said  Hezekiah,  a little  sheepishly.  “ 'Pears 
tew  me  ’twould  brighten  things  up  a leetle  an’  kinder 
keep  us  younger  in  our  minds  than  jest  a-settin’  thinkin’ 
of  how  things  used  tew  be.” 

“ I coincide  with  them  there  idees  of  yours,  Brother 
Appleby,”  remarked  the  deacon  with  emphasis. 
“ There’s  nothin’  freshens  the  interest  in  life  like  a sur- 
prise. Have  yew  thought  up  what  ther  surprise  is  tew 
be,  Hezekiah?” 

The  farmer  stroked  his  chin  whiskers  softly.  The 
sheepishness  had  left  his  face  and  his  eyes  were  twink- 
ling. 

“ That  there  is  ther  drawback,”  he  said  softly.  “ I 


can’t  think  of  a doggoned  thing  that  Hannah  wants. 
Yew  kin  call  her  a curus  woman  that  way.  Ef  yew 
should  ask  her  a dozen  times  a day  ef  there  wuz  any- 
thing she  wanted,  she’d  say  every  time,  * There  ain’t 
nothin’  except  I’d  like  tew  have  ther  children  back  fer 
a leetle  while.’  Of  course  ’tain’t  in  reason  tew  expect 
that,  but  what  I’m  tew  give  Hannah  is  ther  question.  I 
'lowed  yew  mout  help  me  out,  deacon.  That’s  why  I let 
yew  intew  ther  secret.” 

“ I won’t  tell,”  said  the  deacon,  and  then  a twinkle 
came  into  his  own  eyes  as  he  asked, 

“ How’d  a big  Brahma  rooster  suit  yew,  Hezekiah? 
I know  Mis  Appleby  wants  one,  ’cause  she  told  my  wife 
near  a month  ago  she  Towed  she’d  get  another.” 

“ Where’d  I git  one?”  asked  Hezekiah  quickly.  “ Yew 
don’t  want  tew  part  with  none  of  yours,  dew  yew?” 

“ I reckon  I would  ef  yew  are  dead  sot  on  havin’ 
him,”  said  the  deacon,  putting  his  hand  up  to  his  mouth 
to  hide  a smile  from  his  neighbor.  “I’ve  got  a big' 
feller  yew  kin  have  fer  a dollar-fifty.  That  is  cheap- 

er’n  dirt,  but  bein’  it’s  yew  ” 

“ I’ll  take  it,  an’  I’m  obleeged  tew  yew,”  interrupt- 
ed the  other,  as  he  drew  out  a bandanna  and  extracted 
some  money  from  one  corner. 

The  very  next  day  after  this  conversation  Deacon 
White  met  Hannah  Appleby  as  she  was  walking  home 
from  a quilting  bee  at  the  parsonage. 

“ Goin’  tew  be  a sorter  gloomy  Christmas  fer  yew. 
Mis  Appleby,  ain’t  it?”  he  asked,  after  the  greetings. 


A DISCONCERTING  QUESTION. 

% Father — “ Wasn’t  Santa  Claus  good  to  bring  you  all  these  things?” 

Johnny  (quaveringly,  and  looking  earnesdy  at  his  trains  of  cars,  tin  soldiers,  games,  books,  sets  of  blocks,  patrol 
wagons,  mechanical  toys,  plaster  schoolhouses,  Noah’s  Arks,  music  boxes,  toy  phonographs,  trolley  cars,  Teddy  Bears, 
picture  cards,  candy  boxes,  soldier  suits,  bows  and  arrows,  toy  gun*,  and  other  things  too  numerous  to  mention)— 
“Yes  ; but  ain’t  you  an’  ma  goin’  ter  give  me  nothin’  ?” 


The  Bard  at  Christmas 


And  Margie  wants  a new  machine. 

Though  her  old  one’s  quite  a “ hummer. 
Oh,  Pegasus,  ope  wings  and  soar! — 

I wish  I were  a plumber ! 


IN  ARIZONA. 

Saiha  Claus — “Mighty  Michael!  This  is  the  last  Christ- 
mas delivery  I’ll  make  in  a country  that’s  too  hot  for  reindeer.” 


“ Yes,  it  is,  deacon;  an’  I wuz  jest  a-wonderin’  how 
I could  brighten  it  a leetle,”  confessed  the  lady. 
“ 'Tain’t  so  hard  fer  me  as  it  is  fer  Hezekiah,”  she 
added.  “Poor  man!  He  misses  ther  children  somethin’ 
awful!” 

“ Why  don’t  yew  surprise  him  with  a Christmas 
present?”  asked  the  deacon,  as  he  inspected  a snow- 
bank at  the  side  of  the  road.  “ Yew  know  how  ther 
children  used  tew  dew.  Git  him  a Christmas  gift,  an’ 


don’t  let  him  know  nothin’  about  it  until  ChriatmaB 
mornin’.” 

“ What’ll  I git  him,  deacon?”  asked  Mrs.  Appleby, 
with  her  face  brightening.  “ That’s  ther  blessedest 
suggestion  yew  ever  made,”  she  added. 

“ How’d  a big  Brahma  rooster  do?”  asked  the  deacon, 
still  inspecting  the  snow-bank. 

“The  very  thing!  Yew  couldn’t  have  thought  of 
anything  better!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Appleby. 

“I’ll  let  yew  have  one  of  mine,”  said  the  deacon, 
“ the  biggest  one  on  ther  place,  fer  a dollar-fifty.  Is 
that  tew  steep,  Mis  Appleby?” 

“ It’s  a good  price  fer  a rooster  as  roosters  go,  but 
mebbe  he’s  worth  it,  ” said  Mrs.  Appleby  thoughtfully. 
“ I’ll  take  him,  deacon,  an’  here’s  the  money.  Mind 
yew  don’t] hint  nothin’  tew  Hezekiah,  now!” 

The  deacon  nodded,  pocketed  the  sum,  and  said  good- 
day  soon  after. 

The  day  before  Christmas  Hezekiah  became  almost 
hilarious  in  his  demeanor.  The  anticipation  of  Han- 
nah’s surprise  had  already  made  him  feel  younger,  and 
in  the  afternoon  he  visited  the  village  store  and  bought 
a yard  of  red  ribbon. 

“ I reckon  yew  mout  tie  this  here  ribbon  around  ther 
Brahma  somehow  when  yew  send  him  over  tew-morrer, 
deacon,”  he  whispered,  when  he  discovered  his  neighbor 
in  the  back  yard  of  his  home  sawing  a few  logs  for  the 
fireplace. 

“ I’ll  tie  it  on,  but  I won’t  promise  it’ll  stay,”  was 
the  answer,  and  Hezekiah  was  too  elated  to  notice  that 
the  deacon  was  a little  uneasy  in  his  manner. 

Christmas  morning,  while  Hezekiah  was  doing  the 
chores,  Hannah  slipped  over  to  the  deacon’s. 

“ Here’s  a holly  wreath,”  she  said,  taking  it  out  from 
under  her  apron.  “ I made  it  myself.  Can’t  yew  git  it 
over  ther  Brahma’s  head  somehow,  deacon?  It’ll  look 
jest  that  much  more  Christmassy.” 

“I’ll  try,”  was  the  answer,  and  the  deacon  looked 
more  disturbed  than  ever,  but  Hannah  was  in  such  a 
hurry  that  she  could  not  possibly  observe  it. 

When  the  chores  were  done  and  the  dishes  washed, 
Hezekiah  and  Hannah  repaired  to  the  sitting-room. 

They  were  both  thinking  of  the  surprise  they  had 
planned,  when  Deacon  White’s  hired  man  came  up  the 
walk,  carrying  a bushel  basket. 

“ Here’s  your  Christmas  present,  Hannah !”  Hezekiah 


CAUGHT  WITH  THE  GOODS  ON. 


V»v 


remarked  gayly  as  the  door  opened,  and 
at  the  same  moment  Hannah  called  out 
gleefully,  “ Here’s  a leetle  s’prise  fer 
yew,  Hezekiah!” 

Then  the  cover  of  the  basket  burst  off, 
and  a big  Brahma  rooster  attempted  to 
fly  out,  but  his  wings  were  hampered  so 
by  a yard  of  red  ribbon  and  a wreath  of 
holly  that  he  only  flopped  out  helplessly. 

The  hired  man  disappeared  before  ex- 
planations were  forthcoming.  Hannah 
told  her  story  first  as  she  disentangled  the 
rooster. 

“ I thought  yew’d  like  him,  an’  I jest 
put  ther  wreath  on  him  fer  fun,”  she 
began. 

“ An’  I bought  him  fer  yew,  an’  I put 
ther  ribbon  on  him  fer  ther  same  rea- 
son,” broke  in  Hezekiah. 

Then  they  stared  at  each  other. 

“ How  much  did  yew  pay  fer  him?” 
asked  Hezekiah. 

“ A dollar  an’  fifty  cents,  cash  down,” 
was  the  answer. 

Her  husband  did  not  make  any  com- 
ment, but  sat  and  stroked  his  whiskers 
gently. 

“ I reckon  I’d  better  see  ther  deacon 
erbout  it,”  said  she,  after  a minute,  but 
Hezekiah  stopped  her. 

“ We’ll  jest  enjoy  our  s’prise,  both  on 
us,  tew-day,”  he  said  slowly;  “an’  tew- 
morrer,  when  I’m  feelin’  a leetle  less 
happy,  I ’low  I’ll  make  it  a p’int  tew  see  ther  deacon 
myself,  Hannah!” 

A Humane  Man. 

CHE  HANDED  him  his  evening  clothes.  They  had 
^ been  packed  away  all  summer  with  a moth-exter- 
minating compound.  As  the  odor  of  tar  and  camphor 
assailed  him,  his  face  grew  sad. 

“ What  troubles  you,  dear?”  asked  the  wife. 

“ I am  thinking  of  these  clothes.” 

“ It  seems  to  me  that  you  ought  to  look  pleased. 
There  are  certainly  no  moths  in  them.” 

“It’s  my  sympathetic  nature,”  said  the  man.  “I 
cannot  help  it.  Sometimes  it  leads  me  to  absurd  ex- 
tremes, as  in  the  present  instance.  Of  course  I’m  glad 
the  moths  are  gone,  but,”  he  added,  with  a deep  sigh, 
“ they  must  have  found  it  a horrible  death!” 

One  Left. 

<C  OANTA  CLAUS  brought  me  a little  baby  sister 
^ for  Christmas,”  confides  the  small  girl  from 
next  door. 

“ He  did?  That  was  fine!”  answers  the  neighbor. 
“Yes;  an’  it’s  th’  only  present  me  an’  Freddie  got 
that  papa  hasn’t  broken  already  windin’  it  up  an’  show- 
in’  us  how  it  runs.” 

20 


Color-blind. 

By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 

I’M  cplor-blind  as  I can  be — 

I know  not  red  from  green. 

I could  not  tell  an  amber  sea 
From  one  that’s  plain  marine. 

I could  not  tell  you  if  you  asked  the  color  of  my  ink, 

But  well  I know,  though  blind  I be,  that  Phyllis’s  cheek 
is  pink. 

When  sunset  paints  the  evening  skies 
In  wondrous  symphonies, 

And  all  the  prism  seems  to  rise 
From  out  the  misty  seas, 

I know  not  one  from  t’other,  but  I need  not  e’er  be  told, 
Despite  this  awful  blindness,  that  my  Phyllis’s  hair  is 
gold. 

When  autumn  comes  upon  the  scene. 

And  with  her  frosty  brush 
Turns  all  the  tender  summer  green 
On  hedge,  and  tree  and  bush 
To  gorgeous,  flashing  hues  that  seem  by  Titian’s  genius 
spread, 

I know  it  not,  but  I can  see  that  Phyllis’s  lips  are  red. 

And  when  the  broad  and  kindly  dome 
Of  heaven  rears  above, 

And  speaks  of  that  supernal  home 
Where  dwells  eternal  love, 

They  tell  me  it  is  blue,  and  I believe  the  story  true, 

For  have  I not  rejoiced  to  know  that  Phyllis’s  eyes  were 
blue? 


CHRISTMAS  JOY  FOR  THE  GROCER 


Getting  Even. 


The  Hairoic  Poet. 


J^iVR.  KILLJOY  awakens  along  about  three 
o’clock  Christmas  morning,  and  to 
his  great  surprise  sees  Santa  Claus  at  his 
bedside.  ^ 

“ What  are  you  doing  here?”  he  asks. 

“I  have  brought  you,”  says  Santa,  “a 
yellow  necktie  with  cross  stripes  of  pink, 
a pipe  that  you  can’t  smoke,  some  cigars 
made  of  vegetables  that  originally  were  in- 
tended for  stewing,  a pair  of  slippers  that 
would  fit  hams,  a bathrobe  that  you  can’t 
get  into  and  half  a dozen  smeary-looking 
Christmas  cards.  ” 

“What!  Why  in  the  name  of  time  do 
you  unload  that  junk  on  me?  Why  don’t 
you  give  me  something  worth  having?” 
“Because,”  Santa  retorted  fiercely, 
“ you’ve  been  going  around  among  the  chil- 
dren for  a month  or  so,  telling  them  there 
isn’t  any  such  man  as  Santa  Claus.” 


All  the  Same. 

44  \A7HAT  is  the  size  of  your  large  men’s 
handkerchiefs?”  asks  the  shopper. 
“They  are  just  the  same  size  as  the 
small  men’s  handkerchiefs,  madam,”  ex- 
plains the  affable  salesperson.  “The  size 
of  the  man  doesn’t  make  any  difference  in 
his  handkerchief.” 


By  W.  D.  NESBIT. 

HE  WROTE  a sonnet  to  his  lady’s  hair. 

He  vowed  that  it  was  finer  than  spun 
gold; 

That  summer  sunshine  could  not  be  more  fair. 
For  it  the  sunshine’s  rarest  gleams  could 
hold. 

He  sighed  full  deeply  in  his  sore  despair 
Because  he  could  not  get  the  praises  told 
Of  her  bright  ringlets,  which  had  formed  a 
snare 

To  mesh  his  heart  within  their  argent  fold. 

Alas!  One  day  a willful  gust  of  wind 

Came  pranking  by  and  left  her  head  all 
bare ! 

No  more  in  praise  of'curls  his  lute  he’ll  pitch, 
For  that  bold  breeze,  ungentle  and  unkind. 
Had  proven  to  him  that  concerning  hair 

He  did  not  know  exactly  which  was  switch. 

Felt  the  After-effects  Coming. 

4C  ^"\H,  WILLIE!”  exclaimed  the  little  girl 
next  door,  “ come  on  over  and  help  me 
play  with  my  Christmas  things.” 

“Don’t  bother  me  now!  I just  had  my 
Christmas  dinner,  and  I want  to  be  left  alone !” 


Crawford — “ What  do  you  expect  to  get  for 
Christmas?” 

Unde  ’ Rastus — “ Six  months  ef  I’s  dun  gits 
kotched  wif  dese  chickuns.” 


2. And  then  orders  a pint  of  cranberries  delivered  at  once. 


Under  the  Christmas  Tree 


By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 


ii 


H 


►ULLO,  Trumpy !”  said  the  Tin  Soldier  to  the 
Trumpet,  as  he  looked  around  him  to  see 
who  had  come  to  sit  in  the  shade  of  Bob- 
bie’s Christmas  Tree  on  Christmas  Eve. 
“ When  did  you  blow  in?” 

“ I came  with  the  Rubber  Band  early  in  the  evening, 
but  I don’t  think  I shall  stay.”  replied  the  Trumpet. 

“ What’s  the  matter?  Anything  gone  wrong?” 
asked  the  Tin  Soldier. 

“No;  but  the  leader  wants  me  to  play  duets  with 
the  Shoe  Horn,  and  he  has  no  music  in  his  sole,”  said 
the  Trumpet,  with  a wink  at  the 
Monkey-on-a-Stick. 

“ He’s  stronger  on  his  upper 
notes  than  you  are,”  said  the 
Toy  Cannon;  “but  I don’t  won- 
der at  your  leaving.  I’m  going 
to  resign  myself.  I want  to  do 
it  before  I am  discharged.” 

“ I wish  you  Toys  would  shut 
up,”  said  the  Wooden  Noah, 
sticking  his  head  out  of  the  Ark. 

“You’ve  waked  up  the  Jack 
Rabbit  with  your  noise,  and  he’s 
kicked  the  Elephant  out  of 
bed.” 

“ Well,  what  if  he  has? 

Can’t  the  Elephant  put  a sofa 
cushion  on  his  trunk  and  go  to 
sleep  on  that?”  demanded  the 
Monkey-on-a-Stick. 

“I  never  thought  of  that,” 
said  Noah. 

“ You  naturally  wouldn’t, 
with  your  wooden  head,”  said 

the  Tin  Soldier.  “ Say,  what  are  you,  anyhow — Georgia 
Pine?” 

“ No;  I’m  rather  Spruce  just  at  present,”  said  Noah, 
with  a broad  smile  at  his  own  joke. 

“ Gee ! What  a joke !”  cried  the  Monkey-on-a-Stick. 
“ If  that’s  the  best  you  can  do,  I should  think  you’d  feel 
like  a chestnut.” 

“Let  him  alone,  Monk,”  put  in  the  French  Doll. 
“ He  can’t  help  his  jokes.  Of  course  they  come  out  of 
the  Ark.” 


“All  right,  Tow-head,”  returned  the  Monkey-on-a- 
Stick.  “ He’s  a cousin  of  yours,  ain’t  he?” 

“ Not  that  I know  of,”  said  the  Doll.  “ What  made 
you  think  so?” 

“ Oh,  somebody  told  me  you  both  had  the  same  saw- 
dust in  your  veins,”  said  the  Monkey. 

“ Oh,  well,”  said  the  Doll  amiably,  “ you’ll  be  in  the 
family  yourself  pretty  soon,  I reckon.” 

“ What!  Me?”  said  the  Monkey. 

“ Yes,  you!”  returned  the  Doll.  “ Anybody  can  see 
that  you  are  stuck  on  a stick.” 

“ Well,  I don’t  have  to  be 
punched  in  the  chest  before  I 
can  be  got  to  talk,”  retorted  the 
Monkey.  “ Why,  look  who’s 
here!”  he  added,  as  the  Teddy 
Bear  came  along.  “ Old  Button- 
Eyes  ! What’s  bruin,  Teddy?” 

“ Trouble  for  anybody  in  this 
crowd  that  sasses  my  fiancee,” 
growled  the  Bear,  putting  both 
arms  around  the  French  Doll  and 
glaring  at  the  Monkey. 

■ “ She’s  your  honey,  eh?” 
laughed  the  Monkey. 

“That’s  what!”  said  the 
Bear,  giving  Flaxilocks  a good 
hug. 

“ Must  be  made  of  beeswax!” 
grinned  the  Monkey. 

The  Teddy  Bear  made  a jump 
for  the  Monkey-on-a-Stick,  and 
in  less  than  a minute  the  two 
were  engaged  in  a rough-and  • 
tumble  fight  that  so  alarmed 
everybody  that  the  Whistle  blew  three  blasts,  summon 
ing  the  little  red  Patrol  Wagon;  and  that  is  why,  whe>* 
he  woke  up  the  next  morning,  Bobbie  found  the  Monkey 
and  the  Teddy  Bear  inside  the  small  toy  Station  House 
that  his  Uncle  Bill  had  asked  Santa  Claus  to  leave 
under  the  tree  for  him. 


AN  UNFORTUNATE  WISH. 

To  t’inkdatall  last  summer  I wanted  a job  like  dis!” 


<< 


TF  THE  President  dies  who  gets  the  job?” 
1 “The  Vice-President.” 


the  undertaker.” 


A JOINT  DEBATE. 


How  Quiet  Reigned 


By  HENRY  JAMES 

YES,”  replied  the  groom,  smiling  sadly,  “ we 
had  a quiet  holiday  wedding.  The  ever-truthful 
papers  remarked  it  at  the  time.  Still,  it  might  have 
been  quieter,  perhaps.  There  is  nothing  like  a little 
foresight,  and  we  had  guarded  against  any  fuss,  and 
particularly  wanted  to  get  away  from  the  house  without 
a burst  of  acclaim. 

“ Well,  we  knew  there  would  be  a bunch  at  the  door 
with  rice  and  stuff,  so  I had  fixed  a ladder  at  the  window 
of  the  room  in  which  the  presents  were  cold-storaged, 
and  had  an  auto  waiting  in  the  alley.  The  ladder  worked 
fine,  but  just  as  I was  lifting  Lucy  off,  the  thing  lost  its 
balance  and  fell  across  the  conservatory.  They  say  you 
can  hear  a pin  drop.  You  can,  by  a reasonable  amount 
of  listening,  hear  a ladder  drop  across  a conservatory. 

The  old  folks  hadn’t  been  let  in  on  the  ladder  part  of  the 
scheme,  and  didn’t  tumble  with  it.  The  old  lady  looked 
into  the  room,  saw  the  open  window,  retreated  so  rapidly 
that  she  knocked  a set  of  presentation  china  off  the  table 
and  then,  getting  to 
the  head  of  the  stairs, 
yelled  ‘Burglars!’  to 
the  guests,  and  rolled 
all  the  way  down  into 
their  midst.  Papa-in- 
law rushed  out  and 
fired  a couple  of  shots 
at  us  before  we  could 
establish  relationship. 

Now  most  of  these  in- 
cidents were  more  or 
less  audible.  Some- 
body telephoned  for 
the  police,  and  a patrol 
wagon  came  gonging 
up  just  as  the  auto  be- 
gan to  move.  Before 
we’d  got  a real  good 
start,  the  chauffeur 
ran  into  a milk  wag- 
on, overturning  it  and 
shattering  a million 
bottles;  and  what  this 
didn’t  do  toward  mar- 
ring the  quietude  we 
had  devised,  the  lan- 
guage of  the  milkman 
seemed  likely  to  do. 

While  I was  trying  to 
pacify  him  and  telling 
him  to  hush  before  he 
had  mussed  a festal 
occasion  all  up,  a cop- 
per arrested  me  and 
the  chauffeur  for  be- 
ing on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  street,  and  the 


wedding  guests  who  came  to  bail  us  out  brought  a subsi 
dized  Salvation  Army  band  with  them. 

“ Oh,  it  was  a quiet  wedding,  all  right.  Call  around 
and  see  us.  Lucy  is  over  the  hysterics  caused  by  the 
depressing  calm  of  the  function.  But  don’t  say  anything 
about  this  quiet  business,  will  you?  Lucy  might  have  a 
relapse.” 

[No  Hard  Feelings. 

^■'OMING  to  a sudden  stop,  the  driver  of  the  automo- 
bile  jumps  out  of  his  machine  and  runs  back  to 
where  his  victims  lie  upon  the  ground.  But  one  of  them 
is  alive,  and  he  is  seriously  hurt. 

“I’m  profoundly  sorry  this  happened,”  says  the  man 
from  the  automobile,  “ but  it  was  an  accident  I could 
not  avoid.  I am  deeply  sorry,  and  I hope  you  will  allow 
me  to  settle  whatever  damages  there  are,  and  that  you 
will  not  feel  harshly  toward  me.” 

“ It’s  all  right,  friend,”  sighs  the  surviving  victim. 

“ That  other  man  was 
my  rich  uncle  and  I 
am  his  only  heir,  and, 
besides,  I have  been 
carrying  a hundred- 
dollar-a-week  accident 
policy  for  ten  years. 
This  is  the  first  time 
I could  ever  get  ac- 
tion on  it.  If  your 
machine  is  broken.  I’ll 
pay  half  the  repair 
bill.” 


Thwarted  Her. 

| BELIEVE,  just 
* for  a joke,” 
says  the  wife,  “that 
I’ll  show  you  folks  the 
love-letter  John  sent 
me  with  his  first 
Christmas  present  to 
me.” 

“Yes,  do,”  sug- 
gests John  grimly, 
winking  at  the  guests ; 
“ and  I’ll  go  up  to  the 
attic  and  get  that 
hand-painted  necktie 
you  sent  me  at  the 
same  time.” 


A WASTE  OF  DAYS. 

Boss — “ What  are  you  crying  about  ?”  . 

Office  boy — “ My  grandmother’s  dead,  and  she’s  going  to  be 
buried  on  a holiday  !’’ 


“I 


WASHED  my 
hair  to-day.” 

“ And  now  a load 
is  off  your  mind.” 


The  Reporter’s  Christmas  Story 

By  F.  P.  PIT2ER 


T WAS  Christmas  Eve! 

Snowflakes  were  falling  thick  and  fast. 

In  front  of  an  old  rustic  church,  boxes  of  matches 
in  his  little  white  hands,  stood  a boy. 

He  had  been  standing  there  many  hours,  but  no  one 
seemed  to  pay  any  attention  to  his  feeble  cry  of  “ A-ny 
mat-ches,  boss?”  The  little  fellow  in  the  tattered 
garments  was  passed  by  unnoticed. 

Poor  lad!  There  he  was  out  in  the  cold,  while  other 
little  boys  were  in  their  warm,  comfortable  homes,  sur- 
rounded by  happy  relatives  and  friends,  with  a big 
Christmas  tree  loaded  with  costly  gifts.  And  here  in 
the  cold  stood  an  honest  little  fellow,  whose  one  thought 
was  to  earn  a few  pennies  with  which  to  make  his 
mother’s  lonely  heart  happy  on  this  eventful  night. 

The  poor  match-boy  had  almost  despaired,  when  he 
espied,  coming  down  the  street,  a well-dressed  man,  his 
head  concealed  beneath  a high  silk  tile,  the  lower  part 
of  his  face  buried  in  the  warm  astrakhan  collar  of  a 
costly  overcoat. 

On  reaching  the  boy  he  stopped.  At  last  the  shiver- 


ing little  salesman  met  one  who  sympathized  with 
him. 

“ My  boy,  why  are  you  out  in  this  treacherous 
weather,  selling  matches?” 

In  a few  words  the  lad  told  his  pitiful  tale.  The 
man’s  heart  had  been  reached.  Tears  trickled  down  his 
ice-cold  cheeks.  He  put  his  hand  in  his  inside  coat 
pocket,  extracted  therefrom  a fat  wallet  and  was  about 
to  hand  the  youngster  a crisp  ten-dollar  bill,  when  there 
came  a cry  of— “ COPY!” 

Accordingly  the  writer  of  this  story  had  to  cut  it 
short  abruptly,  as  it  was  almost  time  for  the  paper  to 
go  to  press  and  all  specials  had  to  go  in  at  once. 

And  thus  a poor  boy  was  robbed  of  a large  sum  of 
money,  simply  because  a reporter  had  to  cut  his  copy 
short  in  order  to  satisfy  a waiting  compositor. 

Such  is  fate! 


VT  IS  not  surprising,  considering  the  varied  number  of 
* typewriting  machines  on  the  market,  that  literature 
should  become  somewhat  mechanical. 


PUBLIC  VICE. 

“ Lave  th’  Prisidint  attind  th’  juties  he’s  elicted  fur,  says  I.  But  whin  it  comes  t’  takin’  a 
wallop  out  av  th’  wrong-doin’s,  I says,  av  th’  mallyfactories,  thot’s  th  ’ worruk,  says  I,  av  th’  Vice- 
Prisidint” 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A PAIR  OF  SKATES. 


Pinkerton’s  Charity. 

By  JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 

IT  WAS  a raw,  stormy  night.  Mr.  Pinkerton  was 
walking  home  from  the  club,  after  a fine  dinner 
that  put  him  on  good  terms  with  himself  and  with 
the  world,  when  he  was  accosted  by  a big,  burly  chap, 
who  requested  financial  assistance. 

“ Say,  mister,  can’t  ye  help  a pore  feller  what’s  lost 
his  leg?”  the  beggar  whined,  as  Pinkerton  passed  along. 

“ Lost  a leg?”  retorted  Pinkerton,  eying  the  man 
suspiciously.  “ Why,  you  have  two  legs,  haven’t  you?” 
To  all  appearances  the  man  certainly  had. 

“Yes,  sir,”  returned  the  beggar,  with  a mournful 
smile  that  stirred  Pinkerton’s  heart.  “ I’ve  got  two  of 
’em  left,  sir;  but  my  best  one — ah,  that  is  gone  forever! 
I lost  it  in  a railway  accident,  sir.” 

“ For  heaven’s  sake,  what  were  you  before  this  ca- 
tastrophe happened?”  cried  Pinkerton.  “ A centipede?” 
“ No,  sir.  Just  a plain,  ordinary  human  bein’,  sir. 
The  leg  I lo^t,  sir,  was  a wooden  one,  sir,  and  it  used  to 


excite  a lot  o’  sympathy  when  I got  it  strapped  on.  It 
was  worth  four  dollars  a day  to  me,  that  leg  was;  but, 
now  it’s  gone,  I’m  the  dead-brokest  beggar  in  ninety- 
seven  counties,”  explained  the  beggar. 

Whereupon  Pinkerton  gave  the  fellow  a dollar.  This 
at  first  seems  an  extravagant  sum  to  give  to  a man  like 
that,  but  in  this  case  it  was  not  so,  for  Pinkerton  is  a 
writer  by  trade,  and  he  knew  he  could  put  the  incident 
into  words  and  sell  it  to  some  editor  for  ten  or  eleven 
dollars. 

His  Impression. 

<4  ^TES,”  said  the  fair  young  thing;  “ that  Christmas 
* punch  you  just  tasted  is  made  from  a recipe 
that  has  been  treasurecT’ih  the  family  for  centuries. 
The  earliest  authentic  record  we  have  of  it  was  in  the 
lifetime  of  my  great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, 
whose  suit  of  armor  stands  in  the  hall.” 

“If  he  drank  much  of  that  punch,”  observes  the 
young  man,  who  has  had  two  glasses  of  it,  “ he  must 
have  wished  he  was  wearing  that  armor  on  his  inside 
instead  of  his  outside.” 


4.  Divorced. 


Cheese  It. 

PIECE  of  irony  sufficiently  delicate  to  be  worthy  of  quotation 
* * recently  came  from  a New  York  critic.  An  aspiring  young 
poet,  who  had  met  the  critic  in  question,  wrote  a satire  in  emulation 
of  Homer’s  “ Battle  of  the  Frogs  and  Mice.”  The  young  poet  thought 
he  would  go  “ one  better  ” than  Homer,  and  described  in  most  realistic 
style  the  warfare  between  two  factions  of  mites  inhabiting  a piece  of 
cheese. 

He  sent  the  manuscript  to  the  critic  with  a request  for  that  dis- 
tinguished person’s  opinion.  In  a few  days  the  answer  came. 

“ My  dear  sir,”  wrote  the  critic,  “ I have  read  your  satire  and  am 
delighted  with  it.  You  are  worthy  to  be  called  the  Gorgon-Zola  of 
literature.” 

Mistletoe  helps  the  man  who  helps  himself. 


Her  lips  were  like  a red,  red  rose, 

Like  stars  her  eyes  of  blue  ; 

Her  neck  was  like  the  graceful  swan’s. 
I loved  her.  Wouldn’t  you  ? 


“Don’t  stand  there  looking  like  a fool. 
Run  and  get  a moving-picture  man  — I’m 
going  to  fall !” 


Where  Mamma  Lost. 

<<  UNT  EMMY,”  said  the  little 
angel,  “ mamma  has  thought  of 
the  nicest  kind  of  a present  for  you.” 

“ Has  she?”  asked  Aunt  Emmy,  who 
was  nearly  forty,  but  looked  thirty-five 
and  said  she  was  twenty-eight. 

“ Yes;  she  said  it  would  be  the  best 
thing  in  the  world  if  Santa  Claus  would 
only  bring  you  a husband.” 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  Aunt 
Emmy  concluded  to  send  her  sister-in- 
law  a nice,  inexpensive  Christmas  card 
instead  of  the  silver  punch  bowl  she 
had  selected. 

In  the  Days  of  the  Past. 

HAND  in  hand,  with  the  march  of 
time, 

Come  many  sweeping  changes. 

The  stoves  that  prehistoric  man  one? 
used 

Were  simply  mountain  ranges 


A HISTORIC  DUTCH  DUB ! 


Nuts  for  Santa  To  Crack 

By  PERRINE  LAMBERT 


THE  Twentieth  Cen- 
tury  youngster 
carefully  placed  a 
new  ribbon  in  his  type- 
writer,  oiled  the 
machine  thoroughly  and 
began : 

Dear  Santa  Claus 
— I have  about  every- 
thing I want  or  need 
this  Christmas,  and  in 
lieu  of  a collection  of 
gifts  I wish  you  would 
deliver  the  answers  to 
a number  of  questions 
which  have  bewildered 
me  almost  from  my 
infancy. 

How  can  you  possibly 
get  down  our  chimney, 
when  I experienced 
great  difficulty  in  con- 
vincing sister’s  pet 
poodle  that  the  trip  could  be  made  successfully? 

Why  do  you  give  so  many  presents  to  those  who  have 
money  to  buy  them,  and  so  few  to  those  who  cannot 
spare  the  money? 

How  do  you  manage  to  sail  over  oceans,  mountains 
and  housetops,  when  my  natural  history  is  suspiciously 
silent  on  the  subject  of  reindeers’  wings? 


What  excuse  can  you 
offer  for  bringing  fa- 
ther something  for 
mother’s  house,  and  pre- 
senting mother  with  a 
gift  for  her  personal  use 
only? 

Why  do  you  stack 
your  collection  of  toys 
in  the  stores,  thus  al- 
lowing the  children  to 
see  them  long  before 
the  holidays? 

How  is  it  that  you 
can  appear  simulta- 
neously in  the  toy  sec- 
tions of  the  various  de- 
partment stores? 

Why  do  you  live  at 
the  North  Pole,  when  it 
is  an  accepted  fact  that 
the  best  toys  are  made 
in  Germany? 

Don’t  you  feel  silly  sleighing  in  Florida,  where  there 
isn’t  any  snow? 

And  as  the  final  question,  but  not  necessarily  the 
most  unimportant  one,  why  do  you  keep  your  clothes  anti 
whiskers  in  that  old  trunk  in  our  storeroom? 

Anxiously  yours, 

Chalmot  Gunson,  Jr. 


The  Remnant  of  a Man 

By  FRANK  R.  WALTON 


THE  SPEAKER  said,  “ Lend  me  your  ears!” 
I loaned  ’em,  though  I had  my  fears. 

Oh,  such  a world  of  wicked  men! 

I never  got  ’em  back  again. 

The  ears  he  had  seemed  very  fine — 

Why  should  the  rascal  care  for  mine? 

I riveted  my  eyes  on  him, 

And  then  my  sight  grew  very  dim. 

The  rivets  he  could  not  undo, 

Although  he  tried  a week  or  two! 

I’m  sure  you  will  not  feel  surprised 
When  I remark  I miss  those  eyes. 


Soon  after  at  a dinner  gay 
I gave  my  arm  to  young  Miss  May. 

She  thought  it  was  a souvenir! 

You  see,  I haven’t  got  it  here. 

She  took  my  arm,  but  left  my  sleeve. 
It’s  hollow,  as  you  will  perceive. 

For  young  Miss  May  I ceased  to  care, 
And  fell  in  love  with  Rose,  so  fair. 

I lost  my  heart  with  courtly  gravity — 
An  old  tin  can  now  fills  the  cavity! 

I put  some  beets  inside  the  can — • 

I’m  sure  that  was  a hearty  plan. 


I married  Rose ! It  must  be  told 
She  proved  to  be  an  awful  scold. 

She  took  my  head  off ! That  was  sad  ! 
It  was  the  only  one  I had ! 

Oh,  I’m  a remnant  of  a man ! 

Deny  it,  reader,  if  you  can. 


Double-pointed. 

Bess — “Jack  says  my  mouth  is  the  prettiest  he  has 
ever  seen.” 

Frank — •“  Indeed?  Well,  I’ll  put  mine  up  against  it 
any  time.” 


As  She  Is  Spoke. 

(4  VZZY,  you  come  by  the  house  in.” 
* “No,  I don’t.” 

“ Yes,  you  did.” 

“Why  did  I?” 


How  To  Make  Christmas  Presents  at  Home 

(The  first  of  our  famous  and  helpful  “ How  To  Make”  series.) 

By  F.  P.  PIT2ER 


A Teething  Ring  for  Baby. 

KEEP  an  old  liverwurst  in  a cool  place  for  a day 
or  so,  and  then  rivet  the  ends  together.  Then 
cover  the  whole  with  wursted — oh,  pshaw ! we 
mean  worsted — wrapping  it  around  as  closely 
and  tightly  as  possible.  This  will  prevent  the  liver- 
wurst from  biting  the  baby. 

Cologne  Bottle  Holder. 

First  have  a first-class  tailor  take  the  measurements 
of  the  bottle.  Then  take  a silk  sock — one  can  be  found 
in  almost  any  eight-dollar-a-week  clerk’s  washing — and 
cut  off  at  the  top  where  the  garter  generally  takes  a 
grip  with  its  tin  teeth.  Then  cut  a few  holes  in  the  top 
and  run  some  baby  ribbon  through  them,  so  that  the 
opening  can  be  readily  tightened  or  loosed.  Into  the 
holder  thus  made  slip  the  bottle.  If  the  bag  is  lined 
with  banana  skins,  the  bottle  will  slip  in  more  easily. 
If  it  is  to  be  used  to  hold  a flask  instead  of  a cologne 
bottle,  never  mind  the  baby  ribbon  or  the  sock. 

A Jewel  Case. 

Get  a cube  of  limburger  cheese,  and  with  a stiletto 
cut  out  the  insides  and  line  with  zinc.  Cover  the  out- 
side with  wallpaper.  Sprinkle  the  interior  with  Towne’s 
Remarkable  Hair  Grower.  (For  sale  at  this  office. 
Well  recommended  by  such  shaggy-haired  funny  fellows 
as  Bill  Nye,  R.  K.  Munkittrick,  J.  K.  Bangs,  W.  J. 
Lampton  and  others  too  humorous  to  mention.)  In  a 
few  days  the  grower  will  cause  hair  to  sprout  out  on  all 


sides  and  make  a fine,  soft  lining.  Building  the  box 
from  cheese  makes  it  stronger  and  a scentsible  gift. 

A Button  Holder. 

Cut  the  stiff  bosom  from  your  father’s  or  husband’s 
best  shirt.  Tie  a ribbon  to  the  name  plate  at  the  bot- 
tom, and  then,  rolling  it  upward,  tie  the  same  through 
the  excavation  where  his  dollar-twenty-five  stud  usually 
rests.  Close  up  the  sides  of  the  cylinder  thus  made 
with  sausage  skin,  and  cut  a hole  in  the  top  just  large 
enough  to  admit  a button.  Do  not  make  it  too  large,  or 
it  might  admit  cigar  stumps,  ashes,  cuds  of  tobacco  or 
other  emblems  of  masculine  civilization.  Baby  ribbon 
can  dangle  all  around  it,  like  a Boer’s  whiskers.  When 
finished,  varnish  the  whole  thing  with  maple  syrup. 
This  syrup  will  catch  and  hold  any  burglarious  flies  that 
might  call  to  steal  some  of  the  buttons. 

Book-markers. 

Perhaps  the  best  book-markers  we  have  ever  seen 
were  ten  chubby  little  bread-and-jam-covered  fingers 
that  evaded  its  nurse  and  walked  up  the  shelves  of  our 
bookcase  one  day.  But,  of  course,  every  one  hasn’t 
these  little  fingers  in  the  house,  so  we  give  the  follow- 
ing more  simple  method  of  making  a handy  book- 
marker. Cut  a piece  of  birch  bark  from  an  elephant’s 
hide,  two  inches  wide  and  four  inches  long.  Any  ele- 
phant will  stand  long  enough  to  permit  you  to  carve  a 
piece  of  hide  from  his  envelope.  He  may  strike  you 
with  his  trunk,  but  he  will  soon  tire  of  this,  After  you 


AN  ARCTIC  CIRCLE. 


The  Stuttering  Sonneteer. 

Soulful  Songs  of  the  Humble  Counter-jumper  to  the  Haughty  Saleslady. 

By  SUS-SUS-SAM  S.  SUS-SUS-STINSON. 

HOW  sus-sus-slowly  dud-dud-drag  the  hours! 

It  seems  a whole  eter-nun-nun-ity 
Since  eight  o’clock,  when  you  sus-smiled  at  me — 

A smile  like  sus-sus-sunshine  ’tween  the  showers, 

That  mum-mum-made  me  think  of  leafy  bowers 

In  some  fair  wuh-wuh-woodland,  where  with  thee 
My  sus-sus-soul  communes  in  ecstasy 
Amid  the  pup-pup-perfume  of  the  flowers. 

And  that  reminds  me,  bub-bub-by  the  way, 

To  ask  what  pup-pup-perfume  yuh-you  use. 

I always  yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh-use  sachet, 

But  I would  rah-rah-rather  ch-ch-choose 
Your  kind.  Is  it  nuh-new-mown  hay? 

’Twill  henceforth  sus-sus-scent  my  mum-mum-muse. 

Hope  You’re  Not  One. 

44XTES;  Migglesby  is  usually  remembered  by  his 
A friends  and  relations  on  Christmas,  but  not  very 
well.  You  see,  he  is  a ten-o’clocker.” 

“ A ten-o’clocker?”  asks  the  interested  listener. 
“ What  is  that?” 

“ A ten-o’clocker  is  somebody  you  forget  all  about 
until  ten  o’clock  the  night  before  Christmas.” 


<i  JLTE  HAS  a fancy-work  face.” 

**  “A  what?” 

“ A fancy-work  face.  Every  time  his  temper  gets 
ruffled  his  brows  knit.” 


A MOURNFUL  OUTLOOK. 


“ You  say  we  must  be  good,  and  not  want  things  we  haven’t  got;  and  you  say  if  we  re  bad 
we  won’t  get  anything.  It  ain’t  a very  hopeful  Christmas,  is  it,  grandpa  r 4 


have  cut  out  a piece  of  the  proper  size,  chew  on  one  end 
of  it  until  it  has  the  resemblance  of  fringe,  and  then 
with  a red-hot  poker  burn  an  appropriate  motto  in  the 
left-hand  corner,  such  as  ‘‘Damn  the  Trusts,”  “Let 
Well  Enough  Alone,”  “ Stand  Pat,”  or  other  quotation 
appropriate  for  a quiet  home.  Do  not  burn  these  mot- 
toes in  the  hide  before  it  is  taken  from  the  elephant. 
We  know  of  only  one  man  who  tried  to  do  this,  and  now 
he  is  in  a place  where  his  pok^r  stays  continually  red- 
hot. 


CHRISTMAS  is  coming!  and  won’t  stay  away. 
How  to  prepare  for  that  horrible  day — 

The  bills  by  the  score  we’d  rather  not  pay, 
The  lot  of  inane  old  “ greetings  ” we  say, 

Or  listen  to,  said  by  each  bore  and  old  jay; 

The  old  obligations  we  have  to  obey ; 

Wearisome  stuff  about  fat  “ Santa’s  sleigh,” 

And  Moore’s  aged  chestnut,  that  deadly  passe 
“ Night  before  Christmas  ” — don’t  quote  it,  I pray. 
There  once  was  a time  we  all  thought  it  gay. 

Would  that  some  spell  its  spirit  might  lay ! 

The  gift  to  each  servant,  that  is  “employe”; 

The  dinner  to  relatives  toothless  and  gray; 

Their  jokes  that  went  ages  ago  to  decay, 

But  which  they  recount  with  an  air  so  au  fait, 

And  will  till  they’re  turned  to  dust  or  to  clay, 

While  all  must  laugh  loudly  with  voice  like  a bray. 
Or  grin  as  the  clowns  in  a circus  ring  may, 

Though  really  the  “jokers”  you’re  longing  to  flay 
(A  feeling  that  no  one’s  allowed  to  betray), 

Or  to  plug  up  their  mouths  with  a bundle  of  hay, 

Or  to  order  their  heads  brought  in  on  a tray, 

As  ancient  Salome,  in  scanty  array, 

Brought  in  the  prophet’s  she’d  bribed  them  to  slay. 
Such  are  the  thoughts  that  make  one  distrait, 

In  thinking  of  Noel.  Merry?  Nay,  nay  I 


The  Easiest  Way. 

A COMPANY  of  select  colored  artists  were  rendering 
aversion  of  “Othello.”  The  scene  between  the 
Moor  and  Desdemona  had  been  reached,  wherein  Othello 
demands  the  handkerchief  which  he  has  given  his  wife 
as  a wedding  amulet. 

“Desdemona,”  he  cried,  “fetch  me  dat  han’ker- 
chief !” 

But  the  doomed  lady  only  babbled  of  Cassio,  and  her 
liege  lord  shouted  again, 

“ I ast  fo’  de  second  time  to  git  me  dat  han ’kerchief !” 

Still  the  fair  one  parried  the  issue  with  talk  of 
Cassio,  and  the  lordly  Othello,  now  thoroughly  incensed, 
bellowed, 

“ Woman,  fo’  de  third  and  las’  time  I tell  you  to  git 
me  dat  han’kerchief ! Away!” 

And  as  he  was  just  about  to  open  his  mouth  again, 
a big,  leather-lunged  patron  in  the  top  gallery  shouted 
down  at  him, 

“ Fo’  de  Lawd’s  sake,  nigger,  why  doan’  yo’  wipe 
yo’  nose  on  yo’  sleeve  an’  let  de  show  go  on!” 

Given  Away. 

J^fAYOR  SPEER,  of  Denver,  was  talking  the  other 
day  about  political  tricksters.  “They  always 
give  themselves  away,”  he  said. 

“ Don’t  tricksters  always  give  themselves  away?  It 
reminds  me  of  the  two  men  who  wanted  to  sell  their 
corpses  for  dissection.  These  two  men,  miserably  clad, 
called  on  the  dean  of  a medical  college  in  New  York. 
‘We  are  both  on  the  verge  of  starvation,  sir,’  the 
spokesman  said.  * We  are  well  on  in  years,  and  it  is 
clear  that  we  haven’t  much  longer  to  live.  Would  you 
care  to  purchase  our  bodies  for  your  dissecting  room?’ 
The  dean  hesitated.  * It  is  an  odd  proposition,’  he  said. 
‘ But  it  is  occasionally  done,’  said  the  spokesman  in  an 
eager  voice.  * Well,’  said  the  dean,  * we  might  arrange 
it.  What  price  do  you  ask?’  ‘ Over  in  Philadelphia,' 
said  the  spokesman,  * they  gave  us  forty  dollars.’  ” 

Desperate. 

AN  AMERICAN  visiting  London  for  the  first  time 
^ * was  goaded  to  desperation  by  the  incessant  neces- 
sity for  tips.  Finally  he  entered  a washroom  in  his 
hotel,  only  to  be  faced  by  a large  sign  which  read, 
“ Please  tip  the  basin  after  using.” 

“Never!”  said  the  Yankee,  turning  on  his  heels,  “I’ll 
go  dirty  first.” 

His  Heart’s  Desire. 

Fastboy — “ I want  to  buy  something  for  my  grand- 
father’s Christmas — old  Tightpurse,  you  know.” 

Shopman — “ Yes,  sir.  Now,  what  is  your  idea — some- 
thing simple  or  elegant?” 

Fastboy — “ Have  you  any  imported  Russiai  . bombs?” 

English  As  She  Is  Spoke. 

««  ¥T’S  unpossible.” 

* “ You  mean  impossible,  don’t  you?” 

“ I mean  that  it  can’t  be  did.” 


M 


UNCLE  GOTROX  FORGETS  THAT  CHILDREN  GROW  OLDER  AS  THE  YEARS  PASS. 
Uncle  Gotrox  remen'b:" 

his  two  nephews  and  two  -—But — unfortunately  fails  to  remember  that  time  flies, 

nieces  in  Texas 


Explaining  Matters. 

THERE  were  some  deficiencies  in  the  early  education 
of  Mrs.  Donahoe,  but  she  never  mentioned  them  or 
admitted  their  existence. 

“ Will  you  sign  your  name  here?”  said  the  young 
lawyer  whom  Mrs.  Donahoe  had  asked  to  draw  up  a deed 
transferring  a parcel  of  land  to  her  daughter. 

“ You  sign  it  yoursilf,  an’  I’ll  make  me  mark,”  said 
the  old  woman  quickly.  “ Since  me  eyes  gave  out,  I’m 
not  able  to  write  a wur-rd,  young  man.” 

“ How  do  you  spell  it?”  he  asked,  pen  poised  above 
the  proper  space. 

“ Spell  it  whativer  way  ye  plaze,”  said  Mrs.  Donahoe 
recklessly.  “ Since  I’ve  lost  me  teeth,  there’s  not  a 
wur-rd  in  the  wur-rld  I can  spell.” 

Fair  Play. 

It  AMMA,”  said  the  little  boy  the  day  after  Christ- 
mas,  as  he  lay  in  bed  and  dutifully  took  the 
paregoric  and  other  things,  “ you  said  yesterday  that  I 
ought  to  be  sorry  for  all  the  poor  little  children  that 
couldn’t  have  as  much  candy  and  cake  and  things  as  I 
got,  didn’t  you?” 

“Yes,  dear.” 

“ Well,  do  you  suppose  those  poor  little  children  are 
sorry  for  me  to-day?” 


Geographical. 

J^TpIS  proper  to  kiss  ’neath  the  mistletoe, 
» Ag  history  shows ; 

But  where  is  the  miss 
Who’d  not  rather  be  kissed 
Right  under  the  nose? 


V 


THE  AFTERMATH. 

By  HORACE  DODD  GASTIT 
jrpWAS  the  night  after  Christmas, 
and  all  through  the  flat 
Not  a creature  was  stirring,  not  even 
the  cat. 

From  father  and  mother  and  me  and 
the  kid, 

Every  one  was  knocked  out  with  a 
pain  in  his  mid. 

Because  of  the  candies  we  ate  for  a 
lark, 

And  kid  from  the  paint  that  he 
chewed  from  his  ark 


k. 


Revenge. 

Soubrette — “ We  are  undone!” 

Villain — “ How?” 

Soubrette — “ The  comedian  is  giving  Willie  a drum.” 
Villain — “Bah!  Beneath  his  plate  on  Christmas 

morning  I will  place  a receipt  for  six  months’  piano  les- 
sons for  his  daughter.” 


GOOD  CAUSE. 


Bill — ‘‘Say,  Jack,  what’s  Teenzy  cryin’  about?” 

Jack — “ Oh,  he’s  blubberin’  ’cause  his  stockin’s  wuz  littlet 
than  ours.” 


